


The Promise

by Five_seas



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five_seas/pseuds/Five_seas
Summary: In the Night court, it is custom to mark a deal with tattoos. Although, at the time he uttered the words, he wasn't thinking of it as a deal, a bargain, a trade. He hadn't been thinking at all, if he had to be honest. A little Cassian/Nesta adventure to stave off the ACOWAR withdrawal.Repost from my ff account. You can read the original through the link in my bio. I want to finish The Sight one day, which means putting the Promise here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR. 
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

In the Night court, it is custom to mark a deal with tattoos.  
  
Although, at the time he uttered the words, he wasn’t thinking of it as a deal, a bargain, a trade. He hadn’t been thinking at all, if he had to be honest.  
  
He beat his wins, once, twice, catching a current of air and letting it carry him over the House of Wind. Buoyed in such a way, he could soar for hours at a time - a great skill on a long trek. And a terrible way to procrastinate.  
  
Come on, Cassian thought, willing himself to change angles and land. Come on. You’re an Illyrian, for Cauldon’s sake, not some fledgling bat.  
  
He could fly into war, he could fly into crisis; he could take on a dozen enemies with a grin on his face. He was even - despite Rhysand and Azriel’s mocking - able to converse with a female for more than five seconds without getting a slap in the face.  
  
Nesta Archeron, however, did not wait so long. She always went for the offensive.  
  
As if on cue, a window opened in the house below. He beat his wings harder again, gaining altitude. He noticed the long hand, the elegant wrists and fingers… and the iron ring, adorning one of them. Elain. Just Elain.  
  
The relief was short-lived, for Feyre’s younger sister looked up, straight at him. “Cassian,” she spoke loudly, although she needn’t. He would have heard her call out across the city.  
  
Then again, he could not pretend that he hadn’t heard her, either.  
  
That, he knew, would have been a fledgling move.  
  
*  
  
“You could have just used the window,” Elain said a minute later, coming out on the terrace to meet him.  
  
“Ah,” Cassian said, landing. “But the inside of a lady’s chamber is not for all to see. If I took such a liberty, your mate would have my head.”  
  
Elain smiled… then her eyes glazed over a bit and she said, in a slightly softer voice, “If my sister does not beat him to it. You are here to see her.”  
  
Cassian started to say no, then thought better of it. “I’m surprised your gift tells you such things.”  
  
“Not this vision,” she said, then blinked and refocused her attention on him. “But I’ve seen you hovering around the house a lot. You would not be so idle if there was an emergency, and you are never flustered around myself.”  
  
So much for subtlety. Azriel would never let him hear the end of it.  
  
“I suppose it’s pointless asking how it will go,” Cassian said. He folded his wings tighter - his whole being flinching already. He should have spoken to Rhysand beforehand. Or even Lucien. Azriel was no use, for obvious reasons, but between the other two, surely he would have gotten some good advice on how to break the news of a mating bond.  
  
Elain was speaking to him, but her voice was lost in the rush of blood in his ears. He knew it would not be easy, but being here, so close, in the house she inhabited, it was near unbearable. The panic would have swallowed him whole, if he didn’t catch the last of her sister’s words.  
  
“…set off at dawn.”  
  
“Set off?” He let out the breath he’d been holding, relaxed his stance. “Nesta… left?”  
  
“Just for a few hours,” Elain said. She must have seen the thought in his eyes, or else Seen him flying about the place, searching, and spared him the effort. “She said that nothing will happen, and she will be back sometime in the afternoon.”  
  
“Did she say where she’s going?”  
  
Elain shook her head. “She won’t tell me, and I cannot See. But so far, she hasn’t come to harm.”  
  
So far? So while he was flying in circles around the House of Wind, working up the courage to come down and speak to her, she hadn’t even been there?  
  
How could he have been so stupid?  
  
And, more to the point, how could he not have felt it? Cassian let his senses wander, opened his eyes and ears, and though he had none of Azriel or Rhysand’s skills, he could tell, Elain was telling the truth. She was alone in the house.  
  
“Is this something to do with her training?” he asked. “With Amren?”  
  
“I’ve not seen Amren for a while,” Elain said. “Although perhaps you should ask her.”  
  
And make even more a fool of himself? No - no, he’d had enough for one day.  
  
“Thank you for telling me, Elain,” he said. “I won’t take up more of your time.”  
  
“Before you go…”  
  
He was already preparing to take off, then turned too quickly. One of his wings nearly knocked into Elain, and would have cut her quite formidably, had she not stopped and danced out of its reach again. Her eyes refocused, and she smiled. “My visions are getting clearer,” she said, smiling.  
  
“Yes,” Cassian said, and quietly thanked the Cauldron that she hadn’t been harmed, or Nesta really would have killed him. “Although I should say, you’re getting better at seeing.”  
  
Elain smiled, and for a split second, he could see what Lucien, Nesta, and Feyre all saw. What compelled them to love and protect her, at any cost, at any time. That fierce sort of feeling, not just protectiveness, but love, that she inspired.  
  
But it was not Elain he came to see, not her smile he craved. If anything, he suspected the one he wanted never smiled at all.  
  
“What… can I do for you?” he asked, before he got too lost in his own head again.  
  
“She usually sets off from the West entrance,” Elain said, not specifying who she meant. “And she takes the same path to come back from the forest. If you want to speak, that is usually the best place to find her.”  
  
*  
  
“My goodness, he lives,” Rhysand said, almost as soon as Cassian went through the door of the tavern. “Did you lose your way, Cassian, or got distracted by something shiny?”  
  
“With that look on his face,” Azriel said, “I reckon he got attacked. By a company of ravens.”  
  
“Or a parliament of owls.”  
  
Cassian made a rude gesture at both of them, then got them all a drink. He didn’t care how bad it would feel in the morning. He felt like getting rip-roaring drunk, and he would do just that.  
  
Unfortunately, his friends weren’t in such a hurry, and took their time with their pints, chatting over this and that. Most of the conversation, he noted as he drank, seemed to revolve around the restoration efforts in the South, funny stories the relief groups brought back as the rotation ended, old feuds between courts getting settled and new ones being made. Nothing too interesting, as far as he was concerned.  
  
His thoughts kept straying. Over the hills and far away, or at least as far as the house on top of the hill, where, he hoped, Feyre was sitting with both her sisters, catching up.  
  
There was a nudge - not in his physical body, but the edge of his mind. Cassian blinked, and found his friends staring at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?”  
  
“I asked, where do you want to go,” Rhysand said. “Although a better question is - where did you go just now?”  
  
Now would be a good time to have that conversation.  
  
But Cassian couldn’t bring himself to speak. Not because he worried about being insensitive - Azriel was well-used to that by now - and not because he feared their mockery - because he had dealt a fair bit of that himself, and payback was overdue.  
  
No.  
  
He couldn’t speak because speaking made things real.  
  
Growing up, Cassian only knew two things - that he was a bastard, and only as good as his fighting. If he wanted something, he had to fight for it - to pry it, as was, from the hands and feet and backs of his enemies. He coveted nothing, pretended to care for insignificant trinkets, and made sure to show the least amount of care for his most precious possessions. What he wanted was always in danger of being broken or stolen - indifference was the only way to save them.  
  
Nesta would have some objections to that analogy, Rhysand spoke inside his mind. Cassian started - in his distraction, he’d let his shield drop.  
  
His High Lord retreated - enough for the wall to come back up. When he spoke next, it was a different subject altogether. “The last relief group we sent South will return with the full moon. The one scheduled after them is from Yggard’s camp, but there is some… resistance.”  
  
“You don’t say,” Cassian muttered, staring into his brew. “I’m surprised the old git even followed us into battle in the first place. He opposes you at every turn.”  
  
“It’s not as simple—” Azriel started to say, but Rhysand shook his head.  
  
“He is set in his ways,” he said.  
  
“Set in his ways, hah!” Cassian drank, too embarrassed to notice his friends exchanging a worried glance. “Donkey on a bridge, that man, and I say that with the utmost respect. I swear, if we didn’t have a war to deal with, I would have gone up there and rearranged his face for him several dozen times. Then he’d see reason.”  
  
“I doubt he could see any straighter with his eyes on either side of his head,” Rhysand said. “Although I appreciate the sentiment.”  
  
Cassian wasn’t listening. “There’s rumors that he’s clipping the females’ wings again. After you banned the practice.”  
  
“I’ve not received such confirmation,” Azriel said. “Although, if he continues to go against orders, it’s possible that he will do that as well, eventually.”  
  
“The problem is that there never was time to properly talk,” Rhysand said. “It was hard enough to get his support, we didn’t want to push him by insisting he embrace our views too.”  
  
“Embrace our views…” Cassian said. “I’d get him to embrace our views. Give me a chance, and I will make that man see sense, I promise.”  
  
“Do you now?” Rhysand asked. “Are you willing to make it a deal?”  
  
For a second, the words didn’t seem to register. Then Cassian stared at his Lord’s face.  
  
“You don’t… you’re saying I should go?”  
  
“Well, you made such a bold claim, and a generous offer,” Rhysand said, looking serious. “Things are calm right now, we can focus on rebuilding. Why not also try to change a few minds? Unless—” he added, smiling at last “—that was all boast.”  
  
Cassian didn’t know what to say. To leave Velaris seemed huge, even for a few days. And going to Yggard’s camp, to try and change minds, instead of fight…  
  
“Why would you even consider putting me up for this?” Cassian asked. “I’m no diplomat.”  
  
“No,” Rhysand said. “A diplomat is the last thing they want to see.”  
  
“It would do you good,” Azriel said. “If only for a… change of scenery.”  
  
So that I don’t fly to the House of Wind every day. So that I don’t come back looking defeated, without having said a word.  
  
The idea made him feel sick, and yet… yet, he saw the sense in it. Especially if tomorrow’s plan worked - he could see the benefit of putting some distance between himself and Velaris.  
  
“Alright,” he said. “Challenge accepted. Now… who is up for another drink.”  
  
*  
  
Later, much later - it took a while for him to want to be alone - Cassian stumbled to his rooms in the townhouse, and collapsed in his bed. He wanted to just lie there in his clothes until sleep claimed him, but there was something he had to do, and he knew, he would not rest until it was done.  
  
Carefully, he sat up and rolled up his sleeves, to look at the skin on his arms. There were tattoos there already - to commemorate milestones, challenges, victories. But there was also a smattering of ink that marked deals, too. Or rather, oaths that he had taken - with himself, and with others.  
  
The newest, across his left wrist, was the challenge Rhys given him, but others were much older. A promise he’d made and could not keep, that Feyre’s sisters would not come to harm in they helped them talk to the mortal queens. A promise he’d made that the two would not be in danger again, after they were remade by the Cauldron.  
  
And the final one… made at Death’s door.  
  
“I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.”  
  
What he had suspected - so many moons ago - had solidified in this one moment, a blaze of knowing that had given him strength and then shattered him at the same time. He could not give her safety, or protection, but he thought, at least in that, he could keep his promise. At least in that…  
  
But the next life was at them, or rather, their old life had been extended. And he still could not find her. He still could not get through.  
  
To hell with it, Cassian thought, lying back down. I will see her tomorrow. And if she will not have me, then… then…  
  
Then he would go out, find a fight, and let himself be shattered in other ways. Luckily for him, Illyrian fighting camps had plenty of that.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

“I don’t like this.”

Amren looked up, snorted. “I presume you don’t mean the view.”

Nesta frowned in response. A glint of sunlight blinded her briefly, before her eyes adjusted again. Outside, Elain was working on transferring plants, digging them out of their old pots and into new ones. From the far end of the garden, Lucien Vanserra was making his approach. He was in his full Autumn Court regalia - even now, after all this time, he refused to accept the fashions of his new home - and it was all the gold and copper thread in his jacket that was irritating her eyes.

Or, so she told herself. 

“You can’t interfere,” Amren said, eyes cast down on her book again.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Your shield is down.”

That threw her for long enough, pulling her attention away from the scene outside and into her own world. Immediately, she imagined her mental defenses - as tall and unbreachable as the most formidable fortress she could imagine - and they were as strong as they were last time she checked. From somewhere far away, she heard Amren chuckle, and then a wave of power crashed against her walls, swelling and spilling, its crest throwing sparks of magic over the top. 

Your thinking is linear. Amren said, this time inside her mind. You can defend all you want from the sides, you will be helpless if an enemy comes from the sky.

Nesta gritted her teeth and imagined a roof, a big, domed roof, with iron-enforced beams. It was too late - she knew Amren had got through, but still, she imagined.

The sky. How could she forget the sky?

Amren pushed at her again, and this time, to her horror, she felt a crack in the wall again. Nesta pulled all her attention to her defenses, building and building and building, trying to make up for the decay even though it was spreading. The stones were crumbling, the masonry was going to dust. A little more and she would be buried under her own walls. 

Then, as quickly as it had started, the assault was over. Amren pulled all her awareness back, and Nesta drew in a deep welcome breath.

Gotcha.

Her eyes snapped open, but that was all it was. Her mouth was frozen. So was her body. 

Amren was sitting across from her on the windowsill, and now, her attention was fully trained outside.

“I told you,” she said, softly, “you must strengthen your own magic. The Cauldron is too far away for you to rely on it.”

Nesta thought of a string of curses, the rudest she knew.

“Your imagination is impressive, but your power would serve you better.”

Let me go, Nesta thought, let me go and I will show you power.

“Of course. Provided you show me, not Lucien. I don’t want to see an unequal fight.”

I was not going to interfere. Then, grudgingly, she added, Much.

Amren raised an eyebrow. “Well… I suppose you’re honest, at least.”

She let go, but Nesta kept still for a while, testing her defenses. When another attack didn’t happen, she said, “I can hold my own in a fight.”

“You may survive a brawl out of sheer stubbornness. I’m not holding out any hopes for you in a mental duel, though. Not when you are this distracted.”

The objection was nearly out of her lips, when she stopped herself. Why deny it? She was distracted. And, given how pathetically helpless Amren had rendered her in two minutes, that was unacceptable.

Nesta didn’t believe in dancing around difficult subjects. When there was a problem, she took it head on. Glancing out the window again, she saw that the wind had picked up, and Lucien had taken off his fancy jacket to give to Elain. Both of them were kneeling now, her hands elbow-deep in dirt, his getting as filthy by the minute.

“Am I the only one worried that he might try to steal her away?” Nesta asked. 

“And take her where? He’s as good as dead in his own court, and Tamlin has shown no signs of forgiving him. As for the rest, they owe Rhysand some courtesy after all he did in the war - they will not open their doors to someone who insults him, or his mate.”

Mate. Nesta suppressed a grimace - the word never failed to make her shudder. “What about the bond between him and Elain? Wasn’t that some sort of mitigating circumstance?”

“A mating bond is a compelling argument,” Amren said. “It signifies that the fae involved are each other’s equals and would produce good offspring. It does not, however, mean that the two are well matched in character, or that they even like each other. And it would be worth nothing if your sister did not accept it.”

Elain laughed. Lucien was holding something and it seemed to cause him much embarrassment, but she seemed so amused. So… happy. 

And I want to take that away from her. I want to hide her away.

Elain had made progress. She smiled more, she engaged with people around her, and her visions didn’t seem to sneak up on her as much as before. Some of it - though not all - was due to the war being over, and the threat of death no longer loomed over everyone’s future. There was uncertainty - there always was - but it was manageable. Nothing like before, where the constantly shifting possibilities had her catatonic. Little by little, Elain was finding her footing.

And Lucien was right there for it. Nesta held no illusions - one of these days, Elain would take off the iron ring and embrace the mating bond, with all of what it entailed. And then… and then…

“What if he tries to seduce her?” she asked, refusing to back down. “Or worse? I heard what his brothers are like.”

“And you think Lucien is the same? After all he did for Feyre?”

“Especially after all he did for Feyre.” Nesta looked Amren in the eye, and saw in there, a flicker of understanding. “Have you not noticed how everything he has ever done for us was always in his self-interest as well? Have you not wondered what would happen when he decides it no longer serves him to play nice?”

“Then he will have you to contend with,” Amren said. “Or, at least, we can hope you will stall him for long enough for Cassian and Azriel to get there.”

The shadows around her seemed to deepen in response to her words. Azriel - Rhysand’s spy master - was probably listening in. Nesta tried not to look too flustered. 

“I doubt it will ever come to that, though,” Amren added.

“Why?” Nesta asked. “Is it because he wouldn’t do it?”

The other fae didn’t speak immediately. Then, when Nesta had all but given up on getting a response, she asked her if she ever wondered how Elain’s gift worked. 

“How she gets her visions? I did not think she had much of a choice as to what her gift is.” 

“There is a number of High Fae with no special gifts, and a great many Lesser Fae who have abilities far beyond what anybody suspects. But that is neither here nor there. I’m asking you, Nesta, who spend so much time trying to hone your own magic, if you never thought your sister has any control over her own visions.”

“I always thought Elain saw things regardless of whether she wanted to or not. Isn’t that what it is like?”

“I don’t know,” Amren said. “Is it?”

Nesta was about to respond, when the sky darkened outside. The wind had brought in rainclouds. She could see Elain and Lucien scrambling to get inside, carrying a planter of newly rebedded flowers between them. A strange, hollow feeling settled inside her stomach. Seconds later, she brought her walls up, to stop Amren from invading her mind again.

“Hm,” her teacher said. “Well remembered.”

*

The next morning, Nesta rose before dawn and opened the chest of drawers at the bottom of her bed. In there sat a spare change of underclothes, a sturdy pair of boots, and a set of Illyrian fighting leathers, loaned out from Feyre for the final battle with Hybern. Nesta had intended to have them mended and washed before returning them, but by the time everything had been done, she had found she still needed them.

Not for any sentimental reasons (that she would admit). But dresses were not comfortable to trample around the woods in, especially for the activity she had in in mind. And she had gotten fairly adept at slipping them on and off without anybody’s help. Much more difficult was getting out of the house without raising some sort of infernal racket. She was so focused, in fact, on getting into the woods quietly, that she almost missed the footsteps behind her.

Nesta didn’t run or turn around. She kept her pace, while gathering up magic around herself like a cloak. There was a bent in the road, one that would hide her from the stalker for long enough to cast a spell of obstruction.

Except, the person wasn’t behaving like a stalker. In fact, he was doing precious little to hide his own steps.

She stopped. “Skulking, Cassian? I didn’t think that was your style.”

The Illyrian snorted derisively. “Took you long enough. I would have thought you’d be more careful, going off on your own.”

He meant it in jest - or as a way to break the awkwardness - but it hurt, nonetheless. Another reminder of how weak, how inefficient she really was. “Well, it’s a good thing I have you watching,” she said and, steeling herself, turned to face him. 

Usually, seeing Cassian made her feel… something. Not happy - happiness was for sisters, and warm nights by the fire, and the knowledge that she had to bow to nobody, or serve any man. Seeing Cassian was neither of these things. It was nerves, and anticipation, and the knowledge that, one way or another, she was about to get a good fight. It made her feel electric. It made her feel alive. 

Some of those feelings did spark inside of her… only to be swallowed up by the hollowness in her chest. A blank sort of fury rose up in her - everyone else is moving on, is happy. Why can’t I?

Cassian didn’t say anything at first, his eyes looking her up and down. At least his appraisal didn’t make her feel dirty - she knew he was taking in her clothing, wondering what she might be using it for, and why. He wasn’t trying to figure out the quickest way to get her out of it.

“Well?” she asked, at length. “What is it?”

He frowned at her. “You think I came to find you, specifically?”

“The taverns are in the city, as are most of the beds. Unless you crossed Rhysand, there is no reason for you to patrol on foot.” She nodded at the thick canopy above them. “So, I ask again. What is it that you want, Cassian?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

Patience, patience. Cauldron boil me, I will tell her today. Even if it kills me.

Nesta didn’t look murderous, though. Irritated, yes, and strangely eager to get rid of him. Usually, she feigned indifference as well as he did, determined to prove that he was not worthy of her feelings, however negative they were. Small mercies, thought Cassian.

He ought to do as she bade him, and get to the point. Tell her what he had to say, nice and neat, and then deal with the fallout. But seeing her standing there, in full fighting leathers, hair bound, made his mouth go dry, and his curiosity flare up.

“Where are you off to?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you finally decided to train? And here I was, thinking I was the only qualified instructor.”

“Arrogant as ever. Shocking.” Nesta turned to leave, but he was faster - all it took was one jump, a couple of wingbeats, and he landed right in front of her, blocking her path from the forest. 

“It’s not Azriel,” he said, scrutinizing her. “He would have mentioned, and he would have had the courtesy to accompany you from the house. Not Rhysand either - he has better things to do. Mor can’t stand you, and Amren is our resident mage. So I’m intrigued - who did you find who was willing to train you, and on such short notice?”

Nesta said nothing, but there was a defiant blaze in her eyes. He’d touched the truth there, or at least hit close enough to make her uncomfortable. Cassian took a step forward, then another, keeping his wings tight to his back and his palms open, far away from his sides, to show her he was unarmed. This was tricky - he still remembered what had happened the first time he’d gotten too close without permission. But he couldn’t stand the space between them. Not when she was close enough to touch.

She did not recoil, or retreat. Even though her pupils dilated and nostrils flared - from fear? From lust? - she remained defiant, staring at him until they were toe to toe. 

He swallowed. “Come on,” he said, softer this time. “Or will you tell me you just love walking around the woods at dawn?”

“Since when do I have to report my whereabouts to you?” Her voice was steely, but there was a catch in her breath, and he could see her blush a little.

There was a very easy way to answer that. An excellent segue into the conversation they had to have, that they needed to have ages ago, but had been putting off forever. I would find you always, no matter how far away you went. I would be able to reach you to the ends of the Earth if I had to. Mate. My mate. 

He didn’t even need to say the words. He could just gather her in his arms and show her - show her everything. Nesta probably didn’t realize what all of this was, and what it meant. She had heard plenty of mating bonds but she wouldn’t know what it felt like, or how it was. If she just let him… if she just allowed him this close…

She would still kick me in the balls and run away. And for good, this time.

Because he knew - despite her bravado, Nesta hated being fae. She despised everything about them. She would not allow a mating bond to snap into place, because she wouldn’t allow him to even touch her.

And he would accept that. He would absolutely accept it. But he had to tell her at least. He had to try.

“Well?” she asked. He was still standing there, staring at her face, as if he had never seen a female before. “I’m waiting.”

So am I. I’ve been waiting for centuries. Out loud, he said, “You owe me nothing,” he said. “However, as a member of Rhysand’s court, and his emissary to the human lands, you would make a lovely hostage.”

Nesta sneered. “Yes, the king of Hybern did get that point across rather clear. Which is why I took precautions.”

“Precautions? What—” But before he could finish the sentence, he felt the shift in the air, a sudden buzz of magic that resonated through him - from the top of his spine to the tips of his toes. There was something in the air alright - something that lay dormant, until Nesta commanded it into being.

Smiling, she used his distraction to sidestep him and go further down the path. Cassian tried to follow…

…and smacked straight against a shield of magic.

“I would have told you,” she said, her voice slightly muffled from the barrier. “But I had a feeling you would not listen.”

Cassian glared. She hadn’t run away yet, but she might as well have. “You do realize that shield is worthless if there was something caught in there with you,” he said. “You could be trapped.”

“Which is why I worked with Amren on screening my surroundings, before casting the spell,” she said. “You should talk to each other more often, Illyrian. You would spare yourself much embarrassment.”

He glowered. I’ll show you. One of these days, I will show you. He could tear down the shield - if he really put his mind to it. He could throw his own magic against hers and get to the other side. But where Nesta lacked in combat skills, she made up with in her affinity to magic. And under his comrades’ tutelage, he had no idea how far she had advanced.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. 

“You wasted enough of my time this morning,” she said. “And I have enough to do as it is. You will speak to me after I return from my travels.”

By the time she returned he would be gone, he thought, bitterly. But as she turned to leave, his brain caught up with the rest of her sentence, and he spluttered. “Your travels? Where in the Mother’s name are you going?”

Nesta didn’t pause. But when her voice carried back to him, he could swear he heard, the Illyrian camps.

*

“Do I have you to thank for this?” 

Amren and Rhysand looked up at him. Cassian had found them in the town house, pouring over a map of the Night Court, discussing the upcoming visit of Mor’s family to Velaris. Usually, the topic captured his attention completely - he was not fond of that lot coming to this place, fouling it for everybody else - but now, his mind was entirely focused on something else. Someone else.

Rhys didn’t seem to understand, but the smirk on Amren’s face told Cassian everything he needed to know. She was usually the first to know when things changed between a couple - and the first to stick her nose into their business.

There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wished he could say. “Why?” was all he could manage.

“She was asking too many questions,” Amren said, shrugging. “I figured seeing how things are would be better than simply hearing my explanations.”

“And you thought sending her to Yggard’s camp with me was the best way?” 

Rhys’ eyebrows rose in understanding. “Ah. I take it you and Nesta finally spoke.”

Spoke was one word for it. “Not exactly. But she did let it slip that she’s going North. Tell me, Amren, have you any idea how hard it is to come to head with this lot? How little they trust mages? What do you think would happen when I show up there with Nesta and try to parlay?”

“Interesting things, I would imagine,” Amren said. “Shame I can’t be there for it.”

Cassian spluttered. Rhys shot his second-in-command a warning look, then said, “If you are weary about her arguing with others, I have already explained to her what the situation is and what she can and cannot do. Nesta isn’t ignorant of Illyrian customs and she will not deliberately go around, causing trouble.”

“She is your emissary, of course she wouldn’t try to cause trouble.”

“Then what, exactly, are you worried about?”

That trouble would find her. That someone will tell what she is - what we could be - and use her as leverage. That she will see where I’ve come from and hate me more than she already does. “She will slow me down,” Cassian said, ignoring the snort that came from Amren. “There isn’t anybody why can winnow us there, correct? So I would have to fly her all the way North, and then back. We would have to stop more often, and I would have to carry weapons and supplies for the two of us.”

“You are only going for a few days, you would not need much, and you have never complained about carrying someone before,” Amren said. “But since you are so concerned, I will tell Nesta to pack light.”

“Stop twisting what I say.”

“Stop coming up with stupid reasons not to take her with you.” 

“Enough,” Rhysand snapped. “Cassian, I have already spoken to her and she has agreed to be there with you as an observer. Trust that Feyre and I have prepared her for what she might see and hear.”

“It is not about that at all.” I do not want her to see or hear it in the first place. “Why now? Why this camp?” Why me?

“Because she needs to learn,” Amren said. “She may be a High Fae, but her heart and mind are still human. She still struggles to understand this, us, and how she fits in. If she is to be the Night Court’s emissary, she will need to learn of its people.”

“Is that how you framed it to her?” Cassian asked. When his comrades didn’t respond, he sighed. “And what does she think about flying with me? If I recall, she was not too fond of the experience the last few times.”

*

As it turned out, Nesta had had several objections - quite vociferous, according to Azriel. He was braced to hear them himself, when they met on the edge of Velaris later in the afternoon. He was also braced to spend the next few days of flight struggling against the bond - or rather, the potential for one - which, for males, meant equal parts raging lust, and jealousy. 

But when Nesta met him, she was as calm as a statue and only marginally more chatty. In fact, all she said for the first couple of hours was a question of whether her bag - a satchel barely big enough for a change of clothes and some food - would be too heavy for him to carry.

Amren, it seemed, had no mercy.

Cassian had not been wrong in his predictions about flying, though. Having Nesta in his arms set his teeth on edge and made him more aware than ever of their surroundings - how harsh the wind was, how cold the skies. Twice, he asked her if he wasn’t flying too high, and if she was uncomfortable. Twice, she told him to focus on what he was doing. “I don’t want you to smack into a pigeon or something,” she said. “Not when we are this high.”

That had shut him up. 

For a while, at least.

Illyrians trained for flying long distances. This was nothing he wasn’t used to, nothing out of the ordinary. And, for all his complaints to Rhys, he knew he would not have allowed another to carry Nesta if he was around. To him, it seemed as natural as anything.

He was also maddeningly conscious of the fact that she hated it, even if she refused to acknowledge it. Her body was as tense as a string, and every time a gust of wind pushed them higher, he could feel the gasp tearing through her body. If only he could distract her… but no. No, she was too proud for that.

“We’ll rest here,” he said, setting her down as dusk fell around them. “There are caves nearby, so we will not have to pitch any tents. I’ll go find some firewood.”

She didn’t say anything, but by the time he was back, he saw that their beds had been rolled out and she had found water to refill their canteens. Her face seemed… not sick, but drawn, as if she was holding something back and it took all her effort not to let it go.

Was she about to be sick? Did he land too hard? He thought he flew them gently enough but still… “You should sit down,” he said. “Gather yourself a bit. I can take care of this for now.”

“I can pull my own weight,” Nesta said. But she seemed too tired for her usual venom. As he got the fire started, and they warmed their hands over it, her shoulders sagged a bit. “Do you think Elain will be alright?”

The question surprised him. “I thought she was doing better,” he said. “Is it her visions? Is she sleeping bad?”

“No. That is… I don’t know.” Nesta sighed. “I used to be able to ask. But lately, she just smiles and tells me not to worry. Like I could ever do that.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say. Nobody ever seemed to care if he had bad dreams as a child - he was a bastard, after all, not worth any scrap of attention - and such affection was not something he expected as an adult. His friends had nightmares of their own, and his lovers - when there had been any - rarely shared his bed long enough to care. Even Mor, whom he loved dearly, kept to herself. 

He understood where Nesta was coming from, though. He, too, wondered why everyone around him insisted on taking on the pain all by themselves… even as he shouldered his own load without complaint, and without asking for help. 

“Elain is an adult,” he said at length. “You can only help her to the extent she lets you.”

Nesta didn’t snap at him this time. If anything, she seemed thoughtful. “She doesn’t need me that much these days, does she? Mated woman and all that.”

The word almost made him drop the bread he was holding into the fire. 

“I didn’t know she accepted the bond. Did she offer Lucien food then?”

Nesta glanced at him. “What? What food?” Her panic was so sudden, so palatable. He laughed. 

“Calm down,” he said. “It’s just a tradition. A female offering her mate food for the first time means she accepts the bond. Lucien would have explained this to her, if he thought things were heading that way.”

“Would he? Truly?” Nesta frowned. “And what if she accidentally serves him tea, or something like that, and he thought…”

“He wouldn’t presume. Nesta—” Cassian had to say her name a few times to get her attention. “Your sister isn’t helpless, and Lucien is not a brute. She is safe.”

She looked down at her palms. Slowly, she brought them together, interlacing her fingers tightly. “I know that,” she said. “I know. So why do I still fear something is about to happen?”

Cassian set his food aside, and stood. 

He did so loudly, making sure she wasn’t startled by his approach. He didn’t get into her space like he had in the morning, but sat close enough so that she could see him. He picked his words one at a time, careful of how they might be taken. “It takes time. You two have not seen war… not lived it, not in this way.” Cassian reached out, let his hands hover over Nesta’s. When she didn’t lash out, or pull back, he cupped them gently. Despite the proximity to the fire, her skin was as cold as ice. “It’s natural to still feel threatened. Even for us.”

“Us,” she said. “Fairies.”

“Yes.” Cassian met her eyes. “Exactly.”

“So when should I expect it to go away?” she asked. “Or must I go into battle more, to harden myself against this?”

“If it were up to me, you would never have to fight again,” he said, feeling like a hypocrite. “Hardening your heart isn’t good, Nesta. It is what the difference is between the citizens of Velaris and… the Court of Nightmares.”

She sighed. For a second, he thought he could feel an understanding blossoming between them. But when she spoke next, her voice was faraway, expressionless. “I have no use for my heart. I would much rather have it gone.”

Never to give away - least of all to someone like me. She didn’t say the words, but it was easy for Cassian to imagine them. Easy to brace for a rejection even when there wasn’t one.

“Well,” he said, letting go. “It is your heart. I suppose it is better if you keep your temper for this mission anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, voice weary. “What difference does my temper make, in an Illyrian camp? Aren’t I just a female?”

Cassian laughed, bitterly. “It makes all the difference, and that is precisely why. Please,” he said, looking at her. “For the love of all you hold dear, Nesta - do not pick any fights.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

In her time as a fairy, Nesta had seen a fair few Illyrians - not counting the ones in Rhys’ inner circle, of course. She had never been on the front lines, but she had tended to a few after the battle - fetching water, cutting bandages, cleaning wounds and even sewing up injuries when there were not enough healers to spare and time was of the essence. One thing had struck her the whole way through - how none of them showed the full extent of their pain, how they put more energy into appearing calm than they did in getting better.

At first, she had thought it typical male behaviour - an impression reinforced by her one and only visit to an Illyrian fighting camp. She had been too busy trying to control her own power, coming to terms with her new strength and stamina, to pay attention to the finer details, but now, having crossed Yggard’s threshold, she began to realise the finer details was where it was all at. 

It started from before they arrived, with Cassian setting them both down a good half hour away from the camp and insisting they walk the rest. Nesta hadn’t objected to the trek - the last leg of their journey, her companion had grown surly and quiet (more so than usual) and she welcomed having her own personal space again. She did raise an eyebrow when he asked her to carry the bulk of their supplies, but, remembering his warning from the night before, she held back her tongue and followed along, reminding herself she could chastise him on the way back. 

As it was, there was a reason for it all. It became apparent as soon as they cleared the trees.

He had been walking ahead of her, pace quickening with every minute, so he was the first to step into the light. From a few yards behind, Nesta heard a loud, taunting voice, before a host of shadows threw themselves at Cassian. 

Panic, blind and animal, stilled her voice and made her knees buckle. She could not think, could not move.

Then, in the next heartbeat, she saw Cassian throw one shadow off, kick another aside, and his laughter, loud and boisterous, cut the air. “Is that the best you can do, you fledglings?” That provoked another roar, and more shadows launching themselves at him - shadows which, she realized as she came closer, were Illyrian warriors. 

Idiot, she chastised herself, and settled into a calmer pace. All this time, and still acting like a wet-eyed woman at the sight of fighting. 

Of course, something like this would happen. What did she expect? 

By the time she made it to the clearing, Cassian was laughing, hair plastered all over his face with sweat, as he dodged punches and kicks from three opponents, while another four limped to the side in various states of injury. The damned fool hadn’t even drawn his sword.

Nesta considered stepping in - maybe throwing off some magic of her own, stopping this nonsense before it got too far. Then she noticed the Illyrian standing on the other side of the clearing, hands crossed over his chest.

He was young, even by fae terms, and vaguely familiar. Maybe she had seen him on the battlefield - maybe she’d helped healers tend to him - but when his eyes met hers, there was no recognition there. Only contempt. 

Of course there was. She was, for all intents and purposes, a witch, an abomination, and, worse of all, female.

Cassian finished the last of his fights, throwing his opponents just far enough to discourage any more charges. Then he, too, faced the fairy warrior and gave an exaggerated bow. “Greetings, Elias. I hear congratulations are in order.”

“From a bastard general, that is indeed high praise,” Elias responded. Cassian smirked - even from where she was standing, Nesta could tell he was hoping the younger warrior attacked him. Come at me, his stance said. Come on, and let me teach you some manners.

Elias ignored the taunt and nodded at her. “I wasn’t told the witch would come for a visit.”

I’m right here, she thought. Do not ignore me.

But ignore her he did, as did Cassian. As if they had come to an understanding that no more fighting would happen today, he straightened up and said, “Indeed. Our High Lord wanted another set of eyes to see your camp and report back.”

“Does he not trust you anymore?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Let’s just say he’s not satisfied with Yggard’s report about the training of your females. He thought Nesta—” he stressed her name, but didn’t look at her, didn’t even turn to acknowledge her as she walked into the clearing “—would be better suited to assess the situation.”

“Yggard will not be pleased.”

“Why don’t you let Yggard make his complaints to me directly?” Cassian asked. “And take the lady to meet Orlagh. One way or another, she’s staying until I’m done with my business here.”

Elias snorted. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m warning you now - she’d better be able to keep up with them.”

*

Stupid, pigheaded, insufferable…

Childish as it was, Nesta found reciting all manner of insults in he head got her through her day - and night. 

Not just because it gave an outlet to her aggression - and there was much of it - but also because the rhythm settled her mind and lent itself to the rest of daily tasks. Stupid, pigheaded, insufferable, she thought, as she helped the Illyrian females fetch water from the well. Stupid, pigheaded, insufferable, as she washed bloody, muddy shirts in the river while the males rolled around the fighting pit, sullying their clean ones. Stupid, pigheaded, insufferable, as she listened, day in, day out, to the insults being slung around, to the hundreds of tiny ways half the camp was being abused, and reigned back her powers. And her tongue.

For all the confidence Cassian had in her - and it was little indeed - Nesta could just sit quietly. She had something of a practice at it.

Most of the time, she was with Orlagh - an older Illyrian whose wings had been clipped long ago, and doled out the chores around the campsite - and Prisca, a fairly young one, who for some reason followed Orlagh everywhere. As far as Nesta could tell - with no guide to help her, and only the questions she allowed herself to ask, when appropriate - there was no hierarchy in the female’s side of camp, just groups who trained, and groups who worked. 

She, being a witch, was only good for one of those activities as far as Orlagh decided.

“These ones,” she said early on, pointing at the small cluster of Illyrian females fighting, “have a hard enough time learning without adding magic to the curriculum.”

“Wouldn’t it encourage the others to join in, though?” Nesta asked. “If they knew there was more than one way to do it?”

Orlagh had given her a long-suffering look, before telling her there was a group who needed help mending clothes. “You should put yourself to some useful task,” she said. “Rather than muddy the waters.”

Muddy the waters was a turn of phrase she heard a lot, and as far as she could tell, it applied to everything - from the training schedule, to the way the tents were being pitched. She’d learned fairly quickly to talk as little as possible; indeed, to make herself as invisible as possible. The mending and washing and the water-fetching and cooking circles were useful in their own way - she could listen to all the camp gossip and the private grievances of the females. At least as much as they would share with her. 

That was how she learned, for example, that the rumours of clipping were false, but that training was still very limited. That Yggard held the female fighters to a harsher standard, that the males didn’t take the time to teach them but expected them to hold their own anyway. That there was very little time to practice, and that the only males who helped with chores were the old or the ill, or those who had fallen out of favour in one way or another. 

Prisca was the only one who spoke to Nesta, unprompted, although all her questions seemed to be about Feyre. Was it true that Rhysand called his mate High Lady, and that her power matched his own? Was it true that she had learned to fight in mere months before the war, and that she had mastered her magic all by herself? Was it true she had fought side by side her mate in the war with Hybern? 

Nesta hadn’t been able to answer all of these questions, and that fact alone miffed her. It was always strange, meeting people who knew her little sister, but spoke of a stranger; people who knew Feyre as someone completely different to the person Nesta had grown up with. The knowledge was startling, and shameful. She still felt bad that she’d let her grow illiterate, without so much as noticing, and she would cut her own arm off to admit it, but she also felt bad about the hunting too - even though, if it hadn’t been for that, the three of them would have probably died in the war. Or starved beforehand.

Prisca’s interest in Feyre, however, didn’t seem like a simple case of hero worship. On Nesta’s second day, she let slip that she would like to be able to take on a male in a fight.

“Any male?” asked Nesta. “Or one in particular.”

She expected Prisca to smirk, but her companion had frozen, an unreadable expression settling over her face. Seconds later, Elias had sauntered up to them. “Daydreaming again, red one? And here I was thinking you at least saw sense.”

Nesta had bitten her tongue so hard she’d drawn blood. Prisca, for her part, and looked up and given him her sweetest, most saccharine smile. “Oh, I saw sense alright. You should, too, if you want that pretty mug to stay in place.”

Elias had sneered, but gone away.

That exchange repeated itself a few times - whenever, Prisca was in the fighting group, practicing, or went through camp, Elias would find reason to insult her. Each time, Prisca would give him a cold response or some form of insult that sent the rest of the males laughing and egging him on. At first, Nesta didn’t know what to make of it. 

Then Orlagh explained.

*

They were sat down in a mending circle - her, Orlagh, and three more females. She’d chosen this group specifically because they kept an eye on the fledglings - young Illyrians, too little for the fighting circles, too little to even walk properly. For all her reservations against fairies, Nesta found them fascinating - born with their wings tucked under a membrane, breaking free a little more with each week of life, fledglings were like nothing she’d ever seen. 

“They will be strong warriors,” Orlagh said, following her gaze, just as one of them had a wing burst out. It toppled forward, squawking in pain. Nesta’s hands stilled, as she waited for its mother to rush forward. But before anybody moved, the fledgling was climbing back on its feet, flexing its new limb with excitement. “They will be strong warriors eventually,” Orlagh amended. “As soon as they learn not to topple over.”

“You are very patient with them,” said Nesta. 

“Patience is only good to a point,” Orlagh said. “At least we don’t do like other birds and kick them straight off a cliff, to see which ones fly.”

“It seems like some are. Elias,” Nesta explained, “what is his grudge with Prisca?” 

They could see the Illyrians in question right now - Prisca practicing sword movements, Elias critiquing her technique - loudly - to some of the other males. Nesta felt her anger bubbling up. Really, was it that hard for them to calm down? Just a little bit?

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cassian walking across the camp with Yggard. The two were talking quietly among themselves, not even looking at what was going on.

“Why do you think he has a grudge?” Orlagh asked. Her voice was mild, but her eyes were shrew, and Nesta could tell an imprudent word could land her in hot water. So she took her time before finding the right turn of phrase.

“I’m not sure if he does. But he seems to single her out more than others.”

Orlagh shrugged. Nesta couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or truly disinterested.

“In fact,” she ventured, “if I didn’t know any better, I would think he rather fancied her.”

“Yes, well, if you knew better, then you would recognize a mating bond,” Orlagh said. “Or at least the potential for one.”

Nesta didn’t slow her hands, and kept up her work, but she felt her pulse pick up. That word again. And, hearing Orlagh say it, it seemed obvious. At least as far as attraction went, it was plain that Elias was attracted. Prisca, on the other hand…

“Does she not want the bond?” asked Nesta.

“On the contrary,” said Orlagh. “But she has notions.”

“Notions?”

“She thinks she ought to be his equal in a fight before she accepts it.”

Something strange - dark and bitter - rose up in her. She wasn’t sure if it was regret, or recognition. “Is that… possible?” she asked, trying to sound respectful rather than prying.

“There is time for pigheadedness and then there is not,” Orlagh said. “And there is only so much Prisca can do before Elias grows impatient and gives up on her. Ah, you’re surprised,” she laughed. “You think we’re barbarians, don’t you. Forcing unwilling females into bonds they don’t want?”

“I confess, I don’t know what to think. Having become fae less than a year ago myself,” Nesta said, mildly.

Orlagh gave her a long, hard look. That was the first big tests - she rarely, if ever, disclosed how long ago she’d been made immortal. “Ah. I did think you smelled funny,” was all the older Illyrian said. “Well. It would be one thing if Prisca refused because she hates him. But I’m fairly sure she does not. And her insistence to learn to fight before she accepts the bond injures him. Elias is one of Yggard’s lieutenants. He has worked hard to be where he is. Prisca is basically suggesting that he is not good enough to defend her if need be.”

“And is she?”

Nesta wondered, for the first time, if this wasn’t the real reason Amren wanted her to come here, on this mission. 

“I don’t know what Prisca wants,” Orlagh said. “She has notions, like I said.”

*

But Nesta wasn’t sure it was notions - not really. She watched Prisca, and she watched the other Illyrians - females who were raised, like human women, to think they were small and weak and worthless in a fight, and then given an opportunity to learn anyway. She knew what it was like, to suddenly be told you could do anything, but to start later in life - later than anyone could hope to become proficient. She watched the fighting, and, having seen her own sister practice, she could tell there was room for improvement. 

Each fighter has advantages and disadvantages. Just because one gender is different… 

But she couldn’t talk about it. It would be more muddying of the waters.

Nesta wished she could consult somebody - but Amren was far away, and Cassian hadn’t spoken to her since they entered the camp. She had only seen glimpses of him, late at night, when they gathered around large bonfires for dinner, and she was usually too exhausted to talk. She knew he had some sort of business with Yggard - something other than the females’ training - but whatever it was, he didn’t bring her on board. 

Her purpose was different.

If only I knew for sure what it was. By noon on the third day, Nesta was getting tired, and cranky, and she could feel her body ache in very specific ways - not from chores, but from inactivity. There was little space for privacy in the camp, where they lived practically on top of each other, and very little time for solitary walks in the forest. 

Yet, she needed some sort of outlet. Some way to relieve the pressure, from the anger, from having to play such a passive role for so long. From basically being left to fend for herself because Cassian had appearances to maintain.

She was sitting on her own, sewing yet another torn shirt - she was almost sure it was the same one - when a shadow fell over her and she heard Elias’ voice. “I hear you’ve been talking to Prisca,” he said.

Nesta looked up, calmly. “I talk to a lot of Illyrians,” she said, before returning to her work. 

“Prisca talks about you. She says you’ve been telling her stories.”

“She asks questions. I answer them to the best of my ability.”

“You will do well,” Elias said, coming even closer, “not to fill her head with fantasies. Cauldron knows, she has enough of those without you adding to it.”

Nesta forced herself to stay cool, to appear nonplussed. She was used to men invading her space, trying to intimidate her. If she reacted, they only leaned on her harder.

Still. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Is it that bad to tell her about the war?” she asked. “To tell her how fae fought bravely, and honourably.”

“It is bad when she thinks she can be like the lady of the Night Court,” Elias said. “It’s bad when she thinks that she can learn to fight when she is no better than a fledgling with a sword.”

Nesta kept up her sewing. “She is your mate, is she not? That means she can be your equal eventually.”

“Eventually could mean in a million years. She can never be that good.”

There was some truth there - Prisca would need a lot of time and a lot of practice before she was as good as a seasoned warrior. And, though Nesta didn’t say it, Feyre hadn’t been in the front lines in the war either. Her fighting had occurred in a different sort of place, a different sort of battlefield. 

As had Nesta’s. 

As had Cassian’s, for a spell.

She didn’t think there was anything dishonourable about it, although she didn’t boast about the victory as she had seen others do. It hadn’t felt like one at the time. Feyre, she knew, wasn’t keen on killing people herself. And though Nesta didn’t know what sort of warrior Prisca turned out to be, she didn’t want her knowing there was only one way to be a fighter.

“You have to tell her to give up,” Elias said. “You have to make her see sense.”

“I don’t think I have a story that can do that,” Nesta said.

The shirt was torn from her hands. She looked up and saw Elias had gone red in the face. Danger, her brain, her very human brain, screamed. Danger.

But she was a High Fae now. She wasn’t some simpering fool to be intimidated into submission. “Give that back,” she said. 

“You courtiers are all alike. You talk good game, but you don’t really care for what is going on out here. Not until we’re useful to you in some way.”

She wasn’t sure where that was coming from. But looking at Elias - and trying to see him as something other than a panting, angry male - Nesta could see something of her own wrath in him. Burning rage at the injustices of the world, a determination to make it right at all costs. 

Even if it meant razing it to the ground first.

“Are you looking for a fight, Elias?” she asked, finally standing to her full height. “Because it seems like you’ll have one.”

She expected him to sneer and turn her down. Instead, he seized her up as if trying to determine her viability as an opponent. “Orlagh says you’ve been fae for less than a year,” he said. “You’re no good in hand-to-hand combat.”

“My magic,” Nesta said, head reeling with the outrageousness of her challenge. “Against your steel. Show your mate what you can do best - and then you can convince her yourself.” 

For the first time, she saw Elias grinning genuinely. But it wasn’t until he charged her that Nesta knew exactly what she was getting into.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

Yggard was a pigheaded bastard, but even Cassian had to admit, his hospitality was beyond reproach.

He’d taken a calculated risk, leaving all their luggage and supplies with Nesta before entering the camp border - for all he knew, he would have been given the bastard treatment and sent to fend for himself in the woods again. (Were that to happen, he wanted her at least to have a tent.) But he needn’t have worried - not only did the camp general find him accommodation with the rest of the warriors, he also made sure nobody - not even Elias - fought him, unless Cassian issued a challenge first.

“We do not fight Rhysand’s circle,” Yggard had said. Then added, “Regardless of where they come from.”

Cassian had wondered if that was another jab at his dubious heritage. But Yggard had been looking towards the females’ quarter as he said that, and Cassian knew, without looking, that Nesta was probably in sight. 

“She is not a full member,” he’d said. “Not yet, anyway.”

Yggard had shrugged. “She is kin to the High Lady. That is as good as.”

It does, doesn’t it? She needs no more protection than the one she has already. Yet Cassian felt apprehension nonetheless, every single time he heard talk of ‘the witch’. Not all the males in the camp were as diplomatic as Yggard, nor as tempered. He was beginning to regret telling her to be quiet - her silence was respectful, but some of the more opportunistic ones were starting to interpret it as passivity. 

What if one of them tried his luck? Nesta was fierce, but her mouth wasn’t going to do her well in a fight.

No matter. He would find her. He would find her into the edge of nowhere, and he would be there in time.

For the moment, all was calm, and he could focus on the mission. Because, for all his hospitality, Yggard was still a pigheaded bastard. 

“Illyrians are fierce warriors,” he said, every time Cassian’s attempts at parlay got on his nerves. “If the High Lord is displeased, he can always fill his army in other ways.”

“You know that is not what I mean,” Cassian said, at last. It was the third day, and the two were walking around camp, arguing over the same set of problems - the training of females, and the need to remain battle ready, despite the war’s end. His patience was stretched thin - and, he suspected, so was Nesta’s. “Our numbers are depleted. All the courts suffered losses in the war with Hybern - it is only a matter of time before the opportunistic ones decide to strike a blow.”

“Rhysand should be able to handle it,” Yggard said. “After all, he boasts to be the strongest of them all. He need not throw women and children into the fight.”

“He doesn’t ask for children. He only wants the females to be given equal opportunity.”

“Equal opportunity to be killed.” Yggard stopped and gave him a hard look. “Tell me, general, are you mated?”

The question sent him into a brief panic… before he realized Yggard was asking in general terms, not about a specific person. “No,” Cassian admitted. “I am not.”

“Do you love someone then?” 

To the depths of hell and back. “I love my court and I love my people,” Cassian replied. “I will protect them with my life.”

“As would I. As would any warrior in this camp.” Yggard started walking again, forcing him to follow along. “The High Fae in the Court of Nightmares, they see us as barbarians, while treating their own females like chattel or pawns to be disposed of at whim. All other courts are more or less the same. Only your Velaris seems to be a place of equality, and you wish to model the entire world around it.”

“We have hopes that the world would change,” Cassian said. Is that so bad, he wondered. To want something different.

“An idealist, even at your age,” Yggard said, shaking his head. “Tell me, when Hybern attacked your shores, were you glad to have females by your side during the fray? To see them fall upon the sword? Or were there some you were glad to see safe, behind close doors?”

For a second, Cassian had to agree. There were always - always - fairies in Velaris (in any place) that he was glad to see away from fighting. But it didn’t matter whether they were male or female, High Fae or Low, Illyrian or not. He was driven to protect those who needed protection. 

And when he and his comrades went into a fight, he knew they would hold their own. He knew Mor would have his back as well as Az, and that Amren was by far the most dangerous thin on the field. He had trained Feyre himself, and though she was still young and inexperienced, she progressed by leaps and bounds every day. Nesta and Elain had taken down the Hyberian King, with no training and only their raw magic to help them - he could only imagine what would happen when they set their minds to mastering their skills.

And then there was another simple fact - doors did not always hold enemies behind.

“When Hybern attacked the Great Library,” Cassian said, “our High Lady was there with her sister. The two of them had no weapons and nothing but their wits to defend themselves. Nobody but our Seer anticipated the attack, and we had to rush there to defend them.” He still remembered the fear he’d felt, the bone-crushing relief when Nesta had emerged from the shadows, unharmed. The horror when she’d told him what Feyre had done. “It is one thing to defend the weak. It is wholly another to deny and cripple them for the sake of pride.”

Yggard looked like he might strike him then, and Cassian braced for impact. His heart was thundering in his chest, excited at the prospect of battle.

And then he felt a flare of magic, across the camp. He heard the excited cries of Illyrans, drawn to a good fight. And he knew - without checking, without even wondering - that the excitement wasn’t just his own, that the boldness he’d felt moments before wasn’t coming only from him. Even without the taste of steel and fire on his tongue, he knew what must have happened.

Nesta had opened her mouth. 

*

Witch, witch, Elias is fighting the witch. Nevermind none of them bothered to learn her name - a fight always drew crowd. They wouldn’t even part for him - Cassian had to leave Yggard, push his way through the cluster of bodies, duck under wings, in order to get to the fighting ring.

What have you done? Cauldron boil us both, Nesta, what have you done?

She wouldn’t be able to hear him, but he still shouted, still cursed her. 

Then, finally, finally, she was in his sights. But what he saw did not soothe him.

She was fighting Yggard’s lieutenant, alright - the two of them were circling each other, him with a short sword in his hands, her with a dagger. He could feel the magic crackling on the edges of her fingertips, and the concentration etched on her features. The fool hadn’t even bothered to change out of her dress.

Every cell in his being screamed that he intervene. To pull her out of there, and put a stop to this. But even without Yggard at his elbow, this would have been a supremely stupid move. Not only would he cause offense - and ruin any chance these negotiations had at succeeding - but Nesta would probably incinerate him on the spot.

The Illyrians were nudging each other, taking bets on how long the witch would last. A few were glancing in his direction, and he wondered how many would bet he would make a fool of himself. 

All the talk he’d done the last few days, trying to convince Yggard to let the females train in earnest… if he jumped in the defense of one now, he would seem like the worst kind of hypocrite.

Across the fighting ring, he met the eyes of a pretty Illyrian girl with red hair. She seemed vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t sure…

A cry went out, as Elias, tired of circling, charged at Nesta, sword pointed at her chest. It seemed as if he would impale her, and Cassian’s whole body tensed. Then, in the last moment, she sidestepped, bringing her dagger in a short thrust. 

Both missed. Cassian breathed again.

It went on like this for a few more rounds - circling, testing blows, circling again. Elias’ snarled. Nesta snarled right back.

The crowd would get impatient soon. They would want to see a real brawl, not just two fighters feeling each other up. But, for all the panic he felt, Cassian couldn’t help but be… well, a little bit proud. Fights brought out the most primal of urges, and it was often the case with inexperienced ones that they let their own stress override their good judgment. Nesta wasn’t charging at Elias, trying to take him down fast. She was defending herself, conserving her energy, waiting. 

Then Elias attacked in earnest, with a series of rapid blows to her legs, her stomach, her arms. He had longer reach. Nesta was fast on her feet - probably some magic was used there - but she wasn’t able to parry all. He saw the fabric of her dress tear, blood welling up.

Flesh wounds, he reminded himself. They were all flesh wounds.

But why had she allowed steel into the ring? Why had she not suggested something else?

So that he could pummel her face in with his fists? Or crush her skull with a bowstaff?

Nesta managed to put some distance between herself and Elias again, magic erupting from her fingertips. The ground in his feet exploded and he sidestepped just in time. There were cries among the crowd - Prisca’s loudest of all.

The cry helped things click into place, as Cassian remembered gossip among the other males. Elias had a mate who was not his mate, who thought he was too weak to defend her. It caused the lieutenant no small amount of grief, and he always picked fights with the loudmouths. That must be her, Cassian thought. 

Truly, she did seem equally concerned with Nesta as she was with Elias’ own wellbeing. He could not be sure, of course, but Cassian had a feeling there was more to this than meets the eye.

Yes, there is. Nesta’s voice rang through his head, and he nearly toppled over in shock. Now stop distracting me.

That… that…

Cauldron boil me, Nesta, he thought, but the relief was too acute. He could hear her. And she, it seemed, could hear him.

Prisca isn’t fond of males bullying her, Nesta thought before having to dodge a series of attacks. Neither am I.

Well, that much he could understand. He was, however, still shaking on the inside. The more of her blood spilled, the angrier he got. 

Don’t you dare step in, she thought.

I promise nothing. Not if he knocked her out. The second her head hit the floor, all bets would be off, and to hell with diplomacy.

He could have sworn that he saw a grin play on the corner of her mouth. He certainly felt amused, although whether the emotion was hers or his own - he could not say. At any rate, Nesta was the one to charge next, sidestepping Elias’ sword and jabbing her dagger right between his thumb and pointer finger, her other going straight for his eyes. It was a familiar move - in fact, Cassian remembered distinctly teaching it to Feyre. Had Nesta been watching? She seemed sure in her aim. She hadn’t been anywhere near the fighting ring when he’d been training with Feyre, and yet she must have seen something, and then gone off and practiced it by herself. 

She had clearly practiced enough to find her target, on both counts. Caught off guard, the Elias swore and dropped his weapon, giving Nesta time to kick it aside… but she was lost precious seconds, and he disarmed her too, before backhanding her across the face.

The sound of that impact resonated through the camp.

Even Elias seemed shocked.

Nesta’s eyes were wide, but her feet had a mind of their own. She span around, absorbing the blow, her arm bunching into a fist as she turned on the Illyrian again. Magic gathered at her fingers, or maybe it was just the momentum, because when she connected, Elias stumbled back with the force of the blow.

Phantom pain erupted in Cassian’s knuckles and wrist. Nesta raised her fists, but the fingers on her arm didn’t close completely, curving in like claws. If he didn’t set them - or had a healer do it properly - who knew how they would end up curved.

More murmurs erupted around him. Not approving, per se - but the betting pool hadn’t accounted for her lasting this long. They were starting to wonder what sort of sorcery she used to keep going, how long until Elias ended it. There was still no doubt in their minds who the victor would be, and Cassian, reluctant as he was, had to admit he didn’t see a way for her to win either. 

Especially not now.

Elias was big and bulky and his wingspan made it very hard for Nesta to duck behind him and deliver any good blows. He was also light on his feet, keeping himself facing her no matter how quickly she moved. And he had had a fairy’s worth of lifetime of practice. Nesta had a whole lot of Cauldron-given luck. 

Will you shut up? She snapped at him.

Then Elias went on the offensive again - with fists, instead of steal this time. Nesta dodged one punch, evaded the other. She had to raise both her arms from a hook to her face, magic erupting to help her absorb the blow. Elias, without even stopping, threw an uppercut that landed straight into her stomach.

Prisca cried out again, and Cassian could see her eyes were shining with tears. Not for her mate, or her supposed mate. Not even for Nesta, although looks of sympathy were starting to creep in among the Illyrians. No, her tears seemed to be for something else - hers, and every Illyrian female who wore fighting leathers, who he had seen train day in, day out. 

They had all, each and every one of them, been hoping for a chance to stand their own in a fight. And there was a male, one of their lieutenants, who went so far as to put them in their place.

Elias looked sick. He looked around, as if to say, What did you expect of me? 

Then Nesta got her breath back, reared up, and headbutted him in the nose, before driving her knee into his groin.

“Who allowed this to happen?” Cassian heard Yggard shout. He turned just as Orlagh pulled herself in her full height - clipped wings and all - and snap right back.

“And since when does your lot listen to what I say?”

“I told you to keep an eye on her.” The camp general seemed more worried about the way Rhysand would respond to this than anything else. Cassian wished - not for the first time - that he hadn’t played his role so well.

“And I told you to keep that rutting swine under better control,” Orlagh snapped. “The lady issued the challenge, true, but Elias was the one to pick the fight. If you want someone to blame, blame the idiot for not knowing his place.”

Nesta would have put him there. Except, she’d chosen to brawl instead. 

Little by little, the crowd had started to dissipate. His companion was still standing, yet most of the Illyrian males seemed to have decided there was no honour in continuing to watch. Elias would destroy her - he was only taking so long because… because…

Because he didn’t want to be the one to win. Because he knew it would happen and he would be branded for life.

Prisca was still watching. Most of the females learning to fight were. But it was only a matter of time. Only…

Nesta growled and tried to bypass his guard again, to grab at his face, gauge his eyes. She fought as she had the day she’d been made immortal. But Elias saw her coming, and grabbed her tightly. Then, seemingly taking a decision, he spread his wings and shot them both up into the sky. 

Her shriek echoed across the forest, and right behind it, he felt his mouth open, too. A scream tore from him - Nesta! Nesta! - her terror mixing with his own. He knew Elias’ plan - to scare her into fainting, to make her pass out from lack of oxygen, or, worst comes to worst, to plummet them into the ground and knock her out in that way. It was a terrible, terrible tactic that could destroy both fighters, and Cassian did not want to see it happen. No. He wouldn’t see it happen. 

A gust of wind nearly knocked him over - his wings had spread, instinctively, readying for flight. Too often - too often he’d been on the sides, watching her get hurt. No more.

But before he could take off, something changed. Magic - yes - but something else, something different, responding to Nesta’s fear. He’d never felt it before, but somewhere high in the air, he saw Nesta strike Elias, once, then again, her blows landing true and hard. He was still struggling up, still trying to make her yield, but with her fighting him, there was only so much he could do before his wings gave out.

“No!” Prisca cried out, trying to take flight. Several arms reached out to grab her. “Stop them! They’ll fall.”

“They’ll take you with them!” another of the females cried out. “Stay down.”

Cassian didn’t care if he got dragged - but the warning in the air made his hair stand on end. Nesta screamed again and again - and he heard her, clearly, speaking, “Let me go! Damn you, let go!” As if she, too, had sensed it. And she was afraid.

Elias didn’t. Proud, stubborn fool would rather let himself be strewn on the ground than yield.

And then, just as his wings seemed to give out, just as Cassian was crouching to fly, just as Prisca got free of her sisters, Nesta’s magic seemed to coalesce in the air, she smashed her fist into one of Elias’ arms. His hold loosened, and…

And.

Cassian had no words for what happened next. He could only watch, as the fighters tussled in mid-air, a tangle of limbs and wings.

Two sets of wings. 

Elias was too far gone to put up a good fight or keep them floating. He seemed almost glad to let her go and fall down. Cassian was up almost before anybody else - anybody but Prisca, who shot up, straight and true, ready to let Elias crash into her and take them both down.

Nesta beat her to it. She beat Cassian, too. 

Closest to Elias, she shot forward and grabbed his shirt front, then snapped her wings open to their full capacity. Red wings, bloody wings, but large and webbed as those of an adult Illyrian, they fanned out and caught against the wind, slowing the fall. Not enough to stop them on its own - that was impossible - but enough for Nesta to open her arms and release her magic.

Cassian, realizing what she was about to do, shot across the sky and pulled Prisca aside before the air filled with moisture and the ground right below them turned into a mud pit. Nesta screamed again, beat her wings with a huge effort, and threw Elias away from herself. The male seemed to come to his senses and fought to slow himself down, right before he landed. Nesta hit the ground at full speed.

He felt the shock, the pain, the cold, and he was the first running at the circle. He was almost there, too, ready to dig her out with his bare hands if need be. But just as he did, a foot shot out from the crowd that had re-formed, tripping him.

Cassian rose, ready for violence, only to be met by Orlagh’s cool, impassive face. “Stand down, general,” she said. “The fight is not over yet.”

How could it not be over? How, when both opponents were down, and in need of help. Elias might have survived that drop, but Nesta was in pain, and she…

…enough. 

Her voice was weak in his ears, but when he looked at the fighting ring, he saw her pushing herself up. There was mud all over her, caking her face, her dress, her hair. But the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. And, though he had just met them, Cassian knew he would never be able to mistake her wings, either.

Elias was kneeling on the other side of the ring, panting. He, too, looked furious and red-faced - his eyes darting between Nesta and Prisca and Cassian. He was trying to decide whether to continue fighting or not - to defend his pride, his honour as a warrior, or to admit he was soft. Everyone was watching.

“Yield.”

The word was spoken so softly, at first it seemed like the whisper of a ghost. But it was Yggard’s voice, and a second later, Yggard himself had stepped into the ring. Ignoring Nesta completely, he walked up into he was in front of his lieutenant. 

“General…” Elias began, but the older Illyrian cut him off.

“Yield, boy. Rhysand’s emissary has fought well - anything beyond this point is worthless bullying.”

“I deserve to fight till the end,” Elias said. “For Illyrian honour if not for my own.”

“And what will the end be? Your death? Or hers? Because I’ve no doubt Elias - as soon as this female falls, all hell will come on to you. If not from Cassian, then from your own mate.”

That seemed to get to him - or some part of him, at least, because he looked across to where Prisca stood. Pale, wild-eyed, and yet, she stared at him with the same intensity she had observed the fight with. Like it was all hanging on a thread.

“Yield. I will not give you this chance again.” And, as if to punctuate his point, Yggard stepped aside and walked away.

Nesta’s hands had curled up into fists - readying, no doubt, for a charge, for this match to continue. Instead, Elias looked at her - her wings, her bloody wounds, and finally, at her face. “You could have let me die,” he said. “Up there. You could have flown to your mate and let me crash into the ground.”

Cassian’s heart stopped. But if the words registered fully with Nesta, she made no show of it - outward or otherwise. Instead, she nodded her head simply. “I could have.”

“But you didn’t. You used your magic and nearly destroyed yourself.” He spoke as if the idea made him sick. Cassian was about to march in there and teach him some manners, rules of fighting be damned, but Nesta’s response stopped him in his tracks.

“It is not a weakness to spare a life, or a dishonour to let your opponent live.” She spoke the words slowly, without any pomp or haughtiness. If anything, she seemed… humble. “If that makes me a weak female by your standards, so be it. It’s something I will defend until last blood.”

A hush fell over the camp. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths, waiting to see what would happen next.

Nesta was weak on her feet. She wouldn’t last another charge. Anybody could see that. 

But Elias didn’t charge. Still kneeling on the ground, he lowered his head. “There will be no more fighting today,” he said. “I yield.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

She stumbled away from the fighting ring as soon as she could get her feet to work. 

Nobody paid her any heed. It seemed, even as a victor, she was not to be addressed directly.

All the better, Nesta thought. All the better.

She didn’t need anybody to comfort her. Just a chance to clean up. To wrap her wounds. To hide her wings again, although Mother knew there was little point in it now. Everyone had seen.

Exhaustion hit her as soon as she was away from the crowd, and only pure stubbornness kept her from dragging her new limbs all over the ground. There was a stream near the camp that the Illyrians used for washing up, and another, deeper in the forest, where shade was abundant and there were plenty of shrubs where she could take cover, should anybody come looking for her.

If you need to heal yourself fast, look for darkness and fresh flowing water, Amren had advised her, back when Nesta had first gone to her with this new problem. The plant has arrow-shaped leafs and purple flowers. Chew it to paste for your back, or eat the roots to help deal with the pain. Are you sure you don’t want anybody going with you?

No, she didn’t. Not then, not now.

Not ever? 

Not for the time being.

And now I’m talking to myself, thought Nesta. Wonderful.

At least in the forest, nobody could see her crying as she struggled to open her wings, or stumble under their weight, or fall off rocks. No amount of magic could make up for her weakness, or lack of training. Even as a High Fae - beautiful, immortal - Nesta was still running into walls. 

The stream was just that - a flow of water between the rocks, barely strong enough to move the sediment on the bottom, or to disturb her reflection when she leaned over to drink. Nesta started at the sight of her own face - grimy, bloody, hair wild - but there was something else there. Something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Wings, remember? Big bat wings on your back that everybody saw.

Shaking herself, she got to work - tearing off strips off her skirt and sleeves to use as washcloths, gathering bits of the healing plant that Amren had told her about, separating root from leaf from flower. It tasted foul as she chewed it up, but it wasn’t meant for eating, so what difference did it make? 

Her hands shook as she worked, making her drop her rags into the stream as she tried rinsing them. The cuts on her arms and legs stung, and she could feel, deep inside her body, bone and tissue trying desperately to mend themselves together. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this wasn’t something she could fix all by herself - that her body’s healing powers, formidable in comparison to that of an ordinary woman, could only handle this much. She would have to see a Healer. She would have to let somebody else touch her.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

“Stubborn as ever, Nesta.”

She whirled at the sound of her name, teeth baring. Cassian, standing barely a few paces behind, held up his hands and looked away. She couldn’t be sure - he was standing in the shade of a tall oak - but she got the feeling he was… blushing? 

Embarrassment, and - though she hated to admit it - relief flooded her. “What are you doing here?” she asked, weary. If he was to scold her, or gloat, or ask her why she’d been so stupid… she didn’t have the energy for that. And she didn’t want to start crying in front of him. No. She’d rather die.

He must have sensed her resolve, because his voice was level as he said, “I brought clean bandages. And a change of clothes.” His eyes flickered to her, then quickly looked away. Nesta glanced down and stifled a groan. Of course. Her wings had burst clean through the back of her dress. Her front was all but exposed, her underthings in plain view. She hadn’t paid much attention with the mud and blood but… 

“I won’t bother you,” Cassian went on, before she flew into a rage. “I’ll stand out of sight until you’re done. I just wanted to let you know I’m there.”

“Wait.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak the words. No, on reflection, she did. She had been trying to avoid it and now it was all but there, and she couldn’t keep a lid on it forever. “Wait. I… I might need you. Your help, I mean.” She kicked herself. How much more transparent could she get?

Cassian, uncharacteristically, didn’t latch onto her slip. Instead, he nodded, and came closer. He had a back slung over his shoulder, and as he unloaded it, she noticed it wasn’t just clean cloths, but also antiseptic fluid and some more roots and herbs she’d seen the Illyrians take after big fights.

“Orlagh,” Cassian explained. He was still looking away from her, as if worried eye contact would break the peace between the two of them. And whose fault, exactly, is that? Nesta forced herself not to be embarrassed, not to let herself get carried away by panic.

“She knew you were coming after me,” she said.

“She knew somebody would. She thought it might as well be me.”

Liar. No Illyrian would follow her after what she just did. No Illyrian, that is, except for him. 

She was still holding the pieces of her dress she’d been trying to clean up with. Her hands were filthy, the nails caked in dirt. She felt disgusting, and smelled even worse. So why was she still self-conscious? 

Resolutely, she dunked the cloth into the stream and rinsed it, before reaching behind to wash around the edge of her wing. Cassian busied himself with preparing a clean compress, and laying out healing paste over another. Once she got most of the filth off the base of her wings, she reached for the medicine. “May I?” Cassian asked, instead.

Illyrians are protective of their wings. She knew it from Amren, from Feyre, from all the females she’d met in the camp. And yet, she still felt shocked that he would treat hers with such courtesy.

Shocked and apprehensive.

“I’ll just apply these,” he said.

“I’ll need help washing them, too,” she muttered. “They won’t retract properly if they’re this dirty.”

Cassian paused, but only for a second. “You can summon them at will, then?” 

For a moment, she debated not telling him. She didn’t have to say anything and he certainly couldn’t make her. Later she would tell herself it was because she was tired, and didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore. 

Reality was much more straightforward than that. In a way, she’d been waiting for him to see them ever since the day she first felt an itch between her shoulder blades, and reached back to feel the outline of a wing.

“They grow out, and they retract,” she said. “Some days easier than others.”

He seemed to mull this over for a while. She rinsed another rag, and passed it back to him. 

“Did you know they would come out today?” 

Exasperation made her snap. “If you’re asking if I was planning on going into battle like this, the answer is no, obviously.” She looked away. “I wasn’t planning on battling at all.”

“But you did. And you nearly got killed in the process.”

Snarling, she turned, ready to fight again. Cassian, however, merely stared back. “Well?” he asked. “Are you expecting me to disregard the truth?”

“If you’re going to sit here and judge me…”

“I am not judging, Nesta.” As he spoke her name, she felt a tap at her mind’s door - the same one that she had been ignoring; the one that, under the stress of battle, she’d flung right open. Bracing herself against a mental onslaught, she answered.

Except he didn’t invade her mind - he invited her in his. An antechamber - not too dissimilar to Amren or Feyre’s, but revealing enough. She could see the battle playing out, as he saw it. Witnessed the bruises blooming along her body, the blood flowing. Felt his emotions - the panic and the sheer frustration, and knew as he did that this could have been the end of her.

Anger quieted, she pulled behind her own defenses and spoke. “I get it. I should have trained more - trained better than what I did.” Turning back to the stream, she addressed the rag she was rinsing inside. “I should have asked someone to teach me to use these wings, before I went and I made hash of myself on the ground.”

“Isn’t that what you were doing, though?” he asked. “In the forest, behind the shield.”

She felt her cheeks heat up. She wasn’t entirely sure whether it was what he said, or the fact that he was touching her wings again. Or, perhaps it was the question he asked - a question she herself didn’t entirely know the answer to.

“Sort of,” she conceded.

“Sort of? Nesta, this isn’t some benign power, or something normal you adjust to. You grew actual wings.”

“So did Feyre. So does Rhysand, if I am not mistaken,” she said, biding for time, while also wondering at how he could call any power benign - in her experience, they all were the same level of terrifying. 

Cassian, however, wasn’t letting up. He placed one hand under her wing and gently - so gently - urged her to lift it so that he could look at her back better. Knowing what he would most likely see - the black swirls of Night Court ink - she held her breath. When he spoke next, his voice was careful and measured.

“Feyre and Rhysand summon their wings witch magic. Yours are welded to your spine. They’re not a partial shapeshift - they are a part of you.” Gently, he lowered her wing and pulled away. “Nesta, I don’t think I have ever heard of this happening before. Fairies can change their appearance with magic, but they cannot alter the fabric of reality.”

“Unless?”

“Unless what?”

“I can tell there is something else there, Cassian - spit it out.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve never seen this happen before, or have heard it described.” Pause. “But a mating bond might help explain it.”

Nesta closed her eyes. Yes. That was what she was afraid of.

*

She didn’t speak for a long time as she finished cleaning her cuts and Cassian wiped her wings down and applied healing paste all over her back. Still no comment on her tattoo - maybe she’d shredded her skin completely this time, but she doubted it. The only explanation was that he was waiting for her to acknowledge it. 

Waiting. Cassian, waiting.

She could not entirely wrap her mind around it - she thought he would be crowing it from the treetops by now - and at the same time, she could. For all his faults - and he had many - Nesta had also seen a lot of generosity in him, a lot of patience. He could push her to the very edge of her limits with his teasing, but never over - he never went too far. 

Don’t get too hopeful, she thought. Remember the last time you trusted someone this much, you ended up with your dress torn and being called a harlot. Focus on the wings - they have to go.

“I’ll retract them now.”

“Must you?” No judgment in his voice, but he seemed… sad somehow. “None of the Illyrians will mind them.”

“My back hurts,” she said. And it was true enough. “Their weight… I’m not yet strong enough to support them full time.”

Understanding dawned, finally. “Of course,” he said. “Of course. Carry on.”

She waited. “You will want to turn away,” she said, at length. “It is not a pretty sight.”

His eyes met hers - as calm and unflinching as the trees surrounding them. “This is part of you,” he said, finally. “I won’t find any of it repugnant, or turn away because you look less than stellar.”

Nesta sighed, but didn’t argue. He would change his mind soon enough.

Getting on her elbows and knees made it a little easier - elongating her back and pulling the muscles as taught as she could. Concentrating, she snapped the wings out, stretching them both as well - the feeling was not unlike having a muscle torn - and then, one segment at a time, they folded in. Every time she reached another joint, she had to stop to breathe - she felt almost unbelievably full, and she could feel her face twisting with pain. She couldn’t even scream - she barely had enough air for what she was doing.

Faintly, she heard rustling, and she imagined Cassian walking away. Instead, she saw him kneel next to her and felt a cool rag along her neck. 

That - that single gesture - made her sob. 

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know. Take it easy.”

But she didn’t want to take it easy. She wanted it to be over, she wanted the pain to be gone so much. He kept whispering to her, and kept on crying into the ground. It felt like it would never end. 

Of course, it did. It always did.

Spent, she collapsed, his arms rising quickly to catch her. She didn’t even care what he might think, or how he might interpret it - she clung onto him, her mind’s defenses shattered, reaching out - as she had, that day in battle - Cassian, Cassian - desperate to find him.

Unlike the battle, he was there - not miles away in the air, within reach of the Cauldon’s destructive powers. He was holding her, body and soul, and for the first time in years, Nesta let someone comfort her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but she wasn’t cursing him and she wasn’t crying anymore, and he took that for all it was worth.

Cassian adjusted his grip on Nesta, trying to spare her back, and her arms tightened around him in response. Was that… good? 

“It’s good,” she whispered.

“Oh, good. Good.” He coughed. “I um… are you in my head then?”

Pause. “Don’t you know?”

“Rhysand taught us a little bit,” he said, grateful for a somewhat neutral topic. “How to recognize others like him, how to defend ourselves… but there was only so much you can do if you cannot read minds yourself.”

“Hm.” She sighed. Her hand spread out over his shirt, resting - intentionally or not, he couldn’t tell - over his heart. 

“And yourself?” he asked. “Did Amren teach you?”

“As much as she could,” Nesta replied. “It wasn’t high on the list. I imagine it’s more obvious with… mating bonds.”

It sounded like she choked on the words, but Cassian felt oddly encouraged by them. “You don’t seem very shocked by this,” he ventured. “Or angry.”

Immediately, the temperature in the air seemed to drop by a million degrees. “Why? Because I’m an ignorant shrew, I wouldn’t…”

“I’m just saying it seems out of character,” he said, rushing the words. “I didn’t expect it.”

She was still tense, but after a second, she gave a terse nod. “I suppose I can see that.”

Thank the Cauldron, he thought, then immediately checked if she heard it or not. Given by how she sighed and rolled her eyes, he had to guess that was the case. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know how well you can hear me and I’m not very good at this, so before you eviscerate me, at least tell me why.”

That seemed to mollify her entirely. “I’m that bad, amn’t I?” she said, more to herself than to him. “If it wasn’t for the bond, you wouldn’t be here at all, would you.”

That was decidedly not something he had said, or thought. At least as far as he could remember. He’d called her a viper a few times, of course, as well as other select names. But she usually responded in kind, and was liable to cause actual physical damage, too. “I’m just a big, brute Illyrian, Nesta,” he said. “I can’t keep up with you. Won’t you tell me what is wrong? Please?”

“If I told you, would you believe me?” She wriggled in his arms, until she could look at him in the eyes. “Or would you just make fun of me again.”

“I would never make fun of you.”

He expected her to refute him, but she became pensive. “No. No, you wouldn’t.”

Before he could ask her what she meant by that, he felt another tug at his consciousness - this time from very far away. And though he hated the idea of leaving her for a second, he let his mind unfocus and open.

Cassian, Rhys spoke calmly, without rushing - so at least it wasn’t an emergency. There was a pause, as his friend took in the overall mood of his thoughts, his most recent memories. Did you and Nesta have another fight? He asked, at length.

Not yet, shockingly. What’s happening? 

We’re not sure. Elain had a vision - something about blood and wings - and since you two are not accounted for…

Nothing here, he said. Then, quickly, he amended, She might have seen Nesta take on one of Yggard’s lieutenants. 

There was a long, disapproving pause. Will I have to make amends to him? Rhys asked, at length. Or did she leave some of him behind?

She left plenty, and she may have even won the females more practice time, Cassian responded. He omitted the part about Nesta growing wings - unless Rhys saw it in his memories, this was not his announcement to make. She’s hurt, though. I might have to cut our visit short and fly us back to Velaris.

Do as you see fit. I’ll be calmer when all of you are here, Rhys said. Then, Was that what the vision was about, do you think? 

I’m not sure. Vaguely, he felt her shift in his arms again. As you said, things will be easier if we are all together.

Try not to murder each other on the way back, he said. We have a betting pool going as to how long you will last without bickering.

Maybe I should place a bet, he thought, right before the connection cut off. 

Awareness flooded back in, and with it, the uncomfortable reality that he was holding his mate - or potential mate - in his arms, and she wasn’t struggling to get away or freezing up with fear. He could still smell her blood in the air, he could feel the pulse of her wings under his hands, and… and…

And she was frowning. “What happened?” she asked. “Where did you go?”

Cassian rubbed his eyes. “Rhys… he said Elain had a vision. From his description, it sounded like your fight with Elias.”

“How much?” she asked, suddenly alarmed. “How much did she see?”

“Not all, it seems,” he said, trying to stifle the frustration that rose up from somewhere deep inside of him. He could understand her reluctance to share that aspect of herself with others - oh, he understood well - but some lizard part of his brain was furious. Was it so bad to bear wings? Was it so bad to be associated with Illyrians - with him - in such a way?

He tried to stifle it. 

He failed miserably. When he spoke next, his voice shook with anger.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe.” 

Nesta sighed. “I wasn’t going to make such a big deal of it,” she said. “It’s just…”

“Just what? You thought it was better to go wandering about the forest with giant wings on your back, ready to fall prey to every opportunistic… Nesta, have you any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” He’d tried to be patient. Cauldron knew, he tried. But he was at his wit’s end.

She squirmed in his arms, but he wasn’t letting her go. He wasn’t letting her hide her face again. “What were you thinking?” he asked. “If you didn’t want to train with me, you could have asked Az, or even Feyre. You didn’t have to do everything by yourself.”

“No,” she said, “No, of course not. Mother forbid I do one thing without anybody watching me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that,” Nesta snapped, and pushed off him. He let her - let her get on her feet, that is, but followed right along. “Did it occur to you,” she asked, voice shaking, “that I might want to be alone with this for a while? That I might want to have one little thing to myself, before everybody tries to teach me how to weaponize it, how to use it to fight?” She turned, and her dress slipped. Cursing, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep the bodice from falling off. “Is it so strange,” she went on, “that I would want to get used to this before I showed them? Before I showed you?”

Cassian had no answer to that.

He’d been born with wings. They were always a part of him. The mechanics of fligh were as familiar to him as walking, or fighting. He had no more problem with the weight of his wings than he did with his arms. 

But there had been a time - not so long ago - when he hadn’t been able to use them. When they were torn and shredded by magic, and even the healers couldn’t guarantee full recovery. It had been shocking - obscene.

And he was a fairy. He hadn’t had his entire life ripped from him. 

“I didn’t know,” he said, at length. “But I think I’m starting to see.”

Nesta bowed her head. “I’m not ashamed of them,” she said. “I don’t hate them.”

“But you hate the reason they are there,” he said. 

She stiffened. Her eyes - bright and clear - were so full of emotion they made him want to look away. He suddenly had a lot more sympathy for his friends. What he said next hurt beyond anything. “You do not have to accept it,” he said. “We can go on as before, bicker and fight, and if fighting is so repugnant to you, then you won’t have to do it either.”

“Why?” she asked. “Will you run away from me at last?”

“No,” Cassian said. “I will not sully your doorstep or provoke you. I will not force you to speak to me. But I will be there to fight for you, and I will protect you, Nesta - I will protect you with my last blood, until my shadow is lost in the wind and the Mother comes to bring me to the next life. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I won’t stop trying. I won’t let you down.”

He stopped, at last. His chest was rising and falling with the vehemence of his speech, and he wasn’t sure if he could die of embarrassment, but it was likely he would find out.

Nesta just stared at him. How could she still not be convinced?

“You’re angry,” she observed.

“Good to know you’re in my head,” he said. “I would cut my arm off to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking,” she said, slowly, “that I have no reason to trust you. I’m thinking that being this close to you feels like drowning. I’m thinking that if I let myself go under, I would never find air again. I’m thinking that relying on a mating bond to guide your happiness is foolhardy.”

“A mating bond doesn’t guarantee happiness,” Cassian said. “And you can let a mate go, even if it seems impossible.”

“Is this the part where you tell me how Rhysand was bravely going to let my sister marry another?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian laughed - he couldn’t help himself, and he had thought of Rhysand. But that hadn’t been his first choice. “Do you know Mor’s story?” he asked her. “Hers and Az’s?”

Nesta frowned. Of course, she and Morrigan didn’t speak often - and they certainly weren’t the types to have a heart-to-heart. But she wasn’t entirely ignorant. “She was looking for a way out of an arranged marriage, and she did it by sleeping with you,” she said. “Amren said Azriel still holds it against you.”

“Did Amren say why?” 

Nesta’s eyes widened. “You’re telling me…”

“Mor and Az,” Cassian said, “If they were to go there, would likely have a mating bond like no other. Not just because they are each other’s equals, but because they genuinely care for each other and want what is best.”

“Why don’t they act on it, then?” Nesta asked. “If they are so perfect…”

Cassian shrugged. He hadn’t told Rhys about Nesta’s wings - and Mor’s sexual preferences were not his to share, either. “He loves her. She loves him, but not in the same way. He respects that - it hurts him, yes, but he respects that. And she would not love him half as much as she does now, had he not done so.” And Az still holds onto hope. Cassian didn’t say that - he wouldn’t say that, although he suspected Nesta could guess it. “Two of my best friends prefer to disregard their mating bond and live with the consequences, rather than make each other miserable,” he said. “I understand what I’m doing, Nesta. I won’t force you to accept something which you do not want.”

There. He said it all. It was out there.

And it was as awful as he thought. 

He was about to take refuge in routine - tell her it was time to get a move on, return to the camp, deal with the fallout of what had happened - when Nesta stepped towards him. 

One step. Two. Cassian tried to tell himself it was nothing, that he would do nothing. Another step, and she was within reach. His arms ached with the memory of holding her, and he wanted to cry out when she reached out and took his own inked hand in hers. Don’t be kind, he thought. Don’t give me hope where there is none. This close, her silence could be interpreted as anything - trying to figure it out was death by a thousand cuts.

“Your markings,” she said. “They are like my own.”

“The promise I made,” he said. “When I thought we were about to die. I was hoping you’d run.”

“I thought about it,” Nesta said. “And then I didn’t.”

Cassian swallowed. “You embraced me.”

“And accepted your deal,” she said.

“I still don’t know why you did that.”

“I do.” She took a deep breath, and met his eyes. “I do.”

The world seemed to go still. “Nesta,” he said. “I can promise you honesty, if nothing else. I only ask you to be honest in return.”

“Honest… I don’t think I’ve been that in my life,” she said, shaking her head. “Nor kind, nor patient, nor sweet-natured. You’re telling me you still want this?”

“I would have you no other way.” 

She nodded. “I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes.” Her hands gripped his own. “I do.” 

*

They both stood still - waiting, perhaps, for something to happen, some sign that a mating bond had snapped into place. Cassian should have known that wasn’t how it worked. With a sigh, Nesta leaned into him.

“Now what?” she asked, sounding - still - as enthusiastic about this as she would be for a bone resetting. 

“We go back to the camp,” Cassian said. “You need to have a proper healer look at you, and I need to figure out the fastest way we can go back to Velaris.”

She raised an eyebrow and he got a brief image flash through his mind.

“The fastest non-violent way,” he amended.

“That will take a lot of talking,” she said, and sighed again. “Why did Rhysand send the two of us here again?”

“Nesta Archeron,” Cassian said. “Are you making a joke?”

She glared up at him. “I won’t be making a habit of it. And what do you think you’re doing?”

His hands stilled. He’d managed to wrap one arm around her waist and started to stroke along the edge of one of her wounds. Except he hadn’t realized he was doing it. “It’s a… soothing gesture,” he said, swallowing hard. Her eyes followed the movement, curiosity starting to waken. 

“Soothing for whom?”

“We should go.” He let go of her and took a step back, putting space between them. “Any more time and they will send out a search party.”

“Is that so?” Her voice was bemused. Oh, she was definitely onto something. Cassian considered lying or bluffing his way out. 

Then he remembered that she had better access to his head than he had hers. 

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so. They are happy to see us go, happy to take the time to regroup. They need to get rid of us while saving face, and we need to save face as well, because this is what diplomacy is and we are bound by its rules. I’m not eager for this meeting, Nesta, but I’m afraid that if we’re alone together for another second I might end up doing every damn thing I’ve wanted to do to you since the day we met.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

Cassian stopped… and for the first time in a while, he actually felt himself blush. 

A bird flew overhead - just a regular bird, a crow, its caw-caw-caw like a mocking laugh. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m… sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I think I did.”

He glared. “Not funny, Nesta.”

“Amren would say you need to raise your shields more,” she said, walking up to him again. “You’re letting yourself become suggestible.”

Was she influencing him right now? He didn’t know - and she was definitely devious enough to take advantage of the situation - but no, that wasn’t entirely it. She looked calm but her breathing had picked up and her pupils were dilated. Yet she came closer still. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Every damn thing?” she asked, quietly.

“Every last one of them.” And that would be a terrible, terrible idea. 

“Why?”

“Nesta, don’t go reading my mind.”

“You’re practically shouting it at me,” she said. “You might as well speak the words aloud.”

He sighed. “Damn it, if you’ve been researching mating bonds for so long, why do I have to explain it all to you?” Then again, why would she need to wonder about newly mated males and their behaviour. Until a few minutes ago, she’d been fighting the pull tooth and claw, and…

“Newly mated males?” She cocked her head to the side. “Interesting.” 

Cassian growled. Then, in lieu of a response, he showed her Rhys - but not the High Lord of the Night Court, the one she knew. Not the boy he had been, or the person he’d become after his stay Under the Mountain. No, he showed her Rhys after he and Feyre had returned from the House of Mist. And what he had done to Cassian, after the latter had taunted him.

“He had the Illyrians evacuate?” she asked.

“It was probably the safest.”

“And he rearranged your face.”

Cassian coughed. “Yes, well… it healed.”

Nesta seemed to consider all of this. And then, she smirked. “I think I have an idea how we can leave this camp.”

“So do I, but—”

Before he could speak, she grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss. 

It was fast - so fast, and so hard, Cassian barely registered it, barely responded, before Nesta pulled back again. Her face was oddly expectant. He, on the other hand, suspected he resembled a goldfish.

“What—” he started to say, then she pulled him in for another.

“No?” she asked, after the second time. He still stared at her in shock. “Nothing’s happening?”

“Nesta, I’m more than happy to oblige—” he started, then she kissed him again. Damn woman, she never gave him a chance to prepare “—for Cauldron’s sake, woman, do you really want to do this on the forest floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gave him a snooty look, as if he could have expected anything like that from her. “I’m trying to make this look convincing.”

“What for?”

“Them.”

And then, all of a sudden, he caught on. “You want Yggard and the others to think—”

“You’re not a High Lord,” she said, standing up on her tiptoes to reach him. His hands steadied her, “but I have a feeling they will still want us both out of there if we’re convincing enough.”

Cassian couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

And he kept on laughing, even when Nesta tried another clumsy kiss - and it was clumsy, all teeth and no style, the sort of kisses one would expect when one starts out. But there would be time to learn. They wouldn’t have to wait until they met in the next life to do all the things they wanted. 

First things first, though. They had to put on a convincing show.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

In the end, they didn’t even need to work that hard.

The Illyrians barely seemed to notice them, as she and Cassian stumbled out of the forest - him, wild eyed and red in the face, she with leaves in her hair and even more dirt on her clothes than ever before. Orlagh snorted when she saw them, but all she did was hand Nesta some ointment and tell her that she was excused from chores for the rest of the day. “No need for you to start more fights now,” she said.

Cassian muttered something about speaking to Yggard before ambling away. She wanted to feel bad. 

And she would. 

Tomorrow.

“What happened to…” She paused. Had she forgotten his name already?

“Elias is over there,” Orlagh said, nodding towards a spot not too far away. Nesta turned to find the lieutenant sitting hunched over, holding a rag to the side of his face. He seemed angry, yet his eyes were following Prisca as she moved around the campsite, getting ready for her training. His jaw was tight - Nesta didn’t know whether he was trying not to scream or punch something.

“Should I talk to him again?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Orlagh snapped the shirt she was folding for emphasis, then set it aside. Her eyes - bright and penetrating, seemed to look straight through Nesta, as she asked, “You and the general. Are you mated?”

Nesta considered lying. Then she decided against it. “We will be. I think.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose I should be grateful,” the older woman said. “If it had been, my daughter would have been very bereft indeed.”

There didn’t seem to be a good answer for that - at least not in the books of manners she’d read. Then again, a lot of human traditions seemed to hold no meaning. Not anymore. “You’re not angry I beat him?” she asked.

“You didn’t beat Elias. He yielded,” Orlagh said. “There is a difference, and it allows him to save face. You should be gracious and let him do that.”

Or maybe it was all the same, just dressed up different. Nesta decided not to push it, smiled, and walked away.

From across the field, Elias raised his head. He seemed to consider attacking her, and Nesta felt Cassian (a long way away, but not far enough) tensing too, readying himself to respond if need be. Then Prisca crossed the field, carrying a fresh cloth, and Elias’ whole attention turned towards her. 

Nesta walked quickly behind the tents, then doubled back, picking her way behind them until she was close enough to listen in.

“…should change the compress at least.”

“It’s just a cut.”

“And if you’re stupid enough to believe that, then you deserve to die of sepsis. You pigheaded bastard.”

“If you’d just done as you were told—”

“You’d have still picked a fight.” Prisca’s cheeks turned red, and Nesta winced in sympathy. “Your pride is all that matters after all.”

“No,” Elias said. “Protecting you is all that matters to me.”

There was a long silence. 

“I’m not weak,” Prisca said. “And I would rather die than see this land fall, same as you.”

“And if you died, I would follow suit,” Elias replied. “I would follow you to the depths of Hell, Prisca.”

Aren’t you being nosy? She heard Cassian think, all the way down their shared bond. She must have had her guard down. 

But instead of getting mad, Nesta replied, What can I say? I like to see what happens until the end.

Prisca asked something. Elias didn’t respond for a while - so long, in fact, that she turned to leave. “I yielded because I had to,” he said, finally.

Prisca’s expression didn’t change, but her body held still. As if she was bracing against the answer.

“I knew, before Yggard even said it,” Elias said. “I knew if I continued my life would have been forfeit. And I… I couldn’t die.”

Slowly, the lieutenant got to his feet and walked up to his mate. He took her free arm in both of his and, as if the words were hurting him, said, “I couldn’t die because my life is not mine to forfeit.”

“That’s right,” Prisca said. “It isn’t.”

Then she shoved the clean cloth at him and pulled her arm free. “Change your bandage,” she ordered. “If you’re not tending to your wounds by the time I get back, I will have your hide, Elias.”

You Illyrians have a strange way of showing affection, Nesta thought. 

She expected him to ignore her, but then she felt the air shift behind her, and a warm hand laying in the middle of her back - softly, as if not to startle her. We can be very conventional, came the response, so full of promises that she felt her knees buckle. Nesta couldn’t see his face - there was not enough room between the tents for her to turn, without knocking them both over - but she was willing to bet anything Cassian was smiling. Are you done eavesdropping, you nosy biddy? He asked.

Are you done caging me in? 

But before he could say anything, their attention was drawn back to Elias. Prisca had left - walking off with her head and wings held high to the practice circle with the rest of the females. Elias seemed to have taken her advice and started changing his bandages. He unwrapped the cloth she’d thrown at him, and a piece of bread had fallen into his hands. For a while, he held it as if it was magic, and it would disappear at any moment. Then, without taking his eyes off Prisca, he ate it - morsel by morsel.

Nesta felt a warmth building in the pit of her stomach, and her throat began to dry. She wasn’t sure if it was her feelings, or Cassian’s… 

Is that how it feels like? She thought. To watch everyone else move on?

More or less, came the response. His arm slid from her back and wrapped around her waist. Nesta willed herself to stay calm, but all he did was press a kiss against the top of her head. “Come on,” Cassian whispered. “They’ll want to see us off before sundown.”

*

No-one, it seemed, had cared to notice them, after she’d disappeared after the match. 

Nesta tried to convince herself she didn’t care if they had. After all, being the topic of gossip had been her biggest nightmare as a human. She wasn’t disappointed now - it made no sense for her to be. 

As it was, only Yggard and Orlagh came to see them off, and even their minds seemed to drift. They were probably relieved, Nesta thought, that the stalemate between Elias and Prisca was over, and the camp could finally go back to normal. Once, of course, the two of them got over the frenzy or whatever it was.

She let her companion do the talking and exchange courtesies, while she focused on smiling and staying calm. She really couldn’t understand why she was feeling restless all of a sudden. She’d been nervous and tense all week, and she’d even fought today. By all means, she ought to be shattered, and yet all Nesta could think of was what had happened in the forest. And how it had, apparently, been for naught.

Maybe, the thought went on, as they walked further and further away from the camp, she just felt bad for kissing Cassian when neither of them was able to follow up. When he had to focus on getting them to Velaris and she had to focus on her powers not flaring up again. Which was silly in itself, because—

“Stop it already,” Cassian muttered.

Nesta stumbled, barely noticing his arm steadying her over her shock. Was her shield down again?

“No, but I can feel you overthinking everything,” he said, as he helped her straighten up. “It’s giving me a headache.”

Normally, this would have been a good place for her to mock him. But there was no good comeback, was there?

“Sorry,” she said. “I just— I feel— I don’t even know how I feel.”

“Yes, I can see that too. Come on. Let’s climb.”

For a while, she followed him without complaint, even though she was sure it wasn’t the same way they’d come from. But it wasn’t until the trees gave way to bare rock and she realized how far up they’d gotten that she asked what they were doing.

“Neither of us will be calm for a while,” Cassian said. “So we might as well make the most of it and fly.”

“Fly?” Her throat went dry again, and she dug her feet in, grabbing his hand tighter. “From here?”

She expected him to say something mocking, maybe berate her for leaving her lessons aside for this long. Instead, he turned and took both her hands in his. “It’ll just be easier for me to take off,” he said. “You don’t have to fly if you don’t want to.”

Nesta started to say something cutting, then she felt a shudder running through her. Fear - she told herself it was just fear. Then Cassian brought her closer, and she realized it wasn’t just the prospect of flying that had startled her - it was this sort of proximity. Her whole body felt electric, alive. And she had no idea what to do with herself.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I can carry you to Velaris and beyond. You’ll take your time with your wings. Az will show you how to fly beautifully.”

“I… I didn’t want Azriel to be the first to see my wings,” she admitted.

“Yeah. You said. But he is the best person to teach you - and you know it pains me to admit that.”

That was a joke. You can laugh.

“Nesta?”

She looked up. Big mistake.

Had he always been this handsome? Or was it just her lust-addled mind that was making everything look… different. His eyes were brighter, as was his smile. His hands felt so warm through her clothes - she didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to feel it skin on skin. And she would, as soon as they got back to Velaris, and…

“You’re giving me a migraine again.”

Nesta shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “On the flipside, flying would do me a load of good,” she said, stepping back once, twice. He held onto her hands, still, as she shut her eyes and let the wings grow out again. 

“Does it hurt?” But he already knew the answer. She knew he’d felt it, as she had been sensing his thoughts, his energy and restlessness. Unfolding her wings - twice in the same day - should have left her reeling. Instead, it was a relief. Like she’d been forcing herself into a tiny box all this time, and she could finally stretch and fill out space.

“I would have thought they would put you off,” she muttered. “Just another liability.”

“Nesta, look at me.”

She did.

The way he stared at her… it wasn’t just desire. “You awe me,” he said, trailing his fingers under her chin and through her hair. “And when you’re ready to… I will show you exactly how much I like those wings of yours. But—” he swallowed and stepped back. “There are so many flying hours we can enjoy today, and we’ll have to rely on the wind to carry us. Do you think you can handle gliding?”

Right. She forced herself not to think about the distance, and what a fall would do to her, and she just nodded.

“If at any point you need a break…” Cassian frowned. She couldn’t blame him. He probably felt like he was trying to explain breathing to a baby. “Just… let’s keep a link open for now. I need to be able to hear you.”

*

If Cassian sensed just how much this frightened her, he didn’t comment on it. 

In fact, he didn’t comment on anything, except calling out directions to her as they soared above the treetops for the rest of the day. They lucked out, she supposed - the winds were strong, but they were blowing away from the mountains, helping them rather than slowing them down. Every hour, they would stop - or rather, he would circle around to steady her and then lower them both to a clearing or a hilltop, where she would rest her back. 

It turned out that, with soaring at least, the hardest part was to get started, and then to land. Whenever she would struggle, Cassian would move in front of her, letting the current from his flight carry her until she found her energy again.

If she were more like her sisters, Nesta thought, she would have taken the time to enjoy the view - not of Cassian (why not, a part of her argued) but the forest as well, the way the sunlight played upon the clouds, how the wind would caress her neck and send her hair flying everywhere. 

Another time, she thought. Another time.

As it were, it took most of her concentration to keep her body in the right position, to distribute her weight, and to avoid crashing into any trees. 

By the time they camped out for the night, they were both so tired, they barely rolled out their sleeping bags before they passed out. She didn’t have the energy to worry about anything or anyone - especially her sisters, and what they might think if they saw her now.

She woke up to someone nudging her back. No, she thought as she tried pushing at them. Not my back.

“You shouldn’t be squishing them like that, you know,” Cassian said.

Nesta groaned and rolled on her front. “I didn’t even think,” she said. “Were they out all night?”

“They had no reason to hide. May I?” She murmured her assent before she realized what he was talking about. Seconds later, she felt his hands on her wings, adjusting them back into place, shaping them to fold properly against her back. The sensation… Nesta blushed bright red.

“Alright?” Cassian asked. His voice sounded innocent, but when she turned to look at him…

“You know…” she said, “If I realized these things were so sensitive, I wouldn’t have bothered kicking you in the balls that first time.”

“I’m very lucky that you didn’t,” he said, still grinning. Then he let go and held out his hand. “Come on. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Nesta groaned. “Don’t remind me.” A thought occurred to her, as they were breaking up camp and warming up their wings. “Do you think Elain saw us? I mean… do you think she saw us both flying?” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Why?”

She didn’t have to answer, but he looked weary. She found that she really didn’t like that. “I’m just thinking… it would probably be easier if I didn’t hide. Or would I be slowing us down?”

“If you want to fly, then we’ll take as long as we have to,” Cassian said. The way he smiled… she felt a little lightheaded. “Nobody will complain, I promise. Not when they see how well you’re doing.”

But was she doing that well? The next two days, they left the mountains and suddenly the air got flat and still. It was no issue for Cassian, but she had to work a lot harder to keep herself afloat. The first time she flew in that weather, her back was aching within an hour. The second time, it took less than thirty minutes. Even though they were both less encumbered than they had been when they’d left Velaris, they needed to take more breaks - and every time they did, Nesta felt worse and worse.

The morning of the second day, she was hurting so bad, she let Cassian carry her for a stretch again - her wings folded against her back rather than hidden away, both their packs in her lap. She cringed the whole way through.

“It’s not that bad,” he pointed out, the next time they stopped for a break. “We’re almost at the border.”

“I know it isn’t,” Nesta said. She opened her pack and rummaged for the ointment, feeling like a grouchy old woman, and not an immortal fairy. “I know perfectly well.”

“So why are you acting like you want to tear my head off.” He paused, watching her as she tried to apply the herb mixture to her back. “Here. Let me.”

“I can do it myself!”

“Why do you always have to be so…” Cassian stopped, and then muttered something about ‘bloody betting pool’. 

She, meanwhile, felt silly. What difference would it make? Why couldn’t she just let him help her? Even if she wanted to be mad - and part of her still preferred to fight rather than sit with these feelings - she couldn’t dredge up the energy to do it. So she did something she rarely did - she apologized.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, than handed him the jar and turned her back, pulling her shirt down her arms so that he could reach better.

The first touch of his hands on her skin made her shudder. The second, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from moaning. Without reading his mind, she could tell he was just as tense - his ministrations were light, so light. 

“It will go away,” he said, eventually. “The moodiness, I mean.”

“How would you know?”

“You haven’t seen how your sister was, back when she first joined us.” Cassian ran his hand down her spine, and Nesta sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “What happened? What was Feyre like?”

He didn’t respond immediately, spreading the ointment on the rest of her back and the base of her wings. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and started to rub them.

Nesta almost passed out. Almost.

“Are you going to make me guess?” she asked, a little too breathlessly. “Did she set the house on fire or somesuch?”

“No, nothing so drastic,” Cassian replied, and she felt a little better, hearing the tension in his own voice. “But the bickering was one for the record books. I don’t think I’ve seen two people argue, then make up, then argue again so quickly.” He ran his thumbs along the top of her spine, into her hairline and behind her ears, palms over the sides of her throat and then moving lower… and forward.

“Cassian,” she muttered.

“Hmm…”

“You said we shouldn’t do this on the forest floor.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He sighed - the world’s most put-upon Illyrian - then he let go and she wanted to cry with the loss of his warmth. Then he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her flush against his front. It took her a second - then she melted against him, as he trailed kisses along her neck, then her jaw. “I should really stop this,” he muttered.

“I should really stop you,” she replied, wriggling against him. “Why amn’t I?”

“Because there is only about an hour’s flight left,” he said. “And nobody will miss us if—” 

“If?” But he’d tensed up - she could feel him in every sinew of her body - and it wasn’t in response to what they were doing either. She tried to gather her wits, to understand what had put him on edge. But the forest was silent around them. Even the birds…

Why weren’t the birds singing?

“Cassian?” 

“We have to go,” he said, pulling her to her feet and then throwing their things together as quickly as possible. “I’ll carry us the rest of the way - we need to be in Velaris now.”

“What— are you talking to Rhys right now? Why can’t I hear him?”

“Please, Nesta… we need to go now.”

“Why? Cassian—” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop his scrambling and look at her properly. “Is it my sisters?” she asked.

“No. Or… not yet.” He took a deep breath. “Lucien and Az are fighting. And it’s not looking good.”

*

She didn’t know why a simple fight had gotten him so on edge - but then, she didn’t understand half the things that were going on in this world. So when he told her they had to go, she listened. And when they flew, she felt hiss fear infecting her, forcing her to stay quiet and focus. 

Within a few minutes, she felt it - not just a fight, but a shift in the air, a tension. Something was awakening. Something big. Something hungry.

“Elain and Feyre—” she began.

“They’re all keeping out of their way for now, but Elain is distressed,” Cassian said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll settle this by the time we…”

“Cassian, they need to get further away,” she said. “Tell them… or tell Rhys, they need to clear space.”

She didn’t know how she knew. It was more a feeling than a certainty - but the same feeling had been alerting her whenever the Cauldron reacted, and it had kept Cassian alive. Whether or not she was right was not the issue.

He knew that too. Less than a minute later, she felt like the world had been cleaved in half.

“Oh, Mother,” she gasped, while Cassian nearly fell from the sky, when a wave of magic hit them out of nowhere. He recovered, and the two of them skimmed the treetops as Velaris came into sight. “Cassian, let me go.”

“Are you out of your mind? If this happens again…”

“It won’t.” She swallowed hard. “He’s already transformed.”

“Azriel is not a shapeshifter, and Rhys would rather die than set his beast loose in Velaris.”

“Not Rhys,” she said, as she struggled to free herself. They came to the House of Wind, passed it. From the main city, she could hear people screaming and running for the shelter of their homes, as a cloud of dust rose from the ports. “Lucien.”

At this range, she could recognize the magic, even if she could not see him herself. It was familiar to her - she’d seen something like it on the battlefield. When Rhys had unleashed his beast, the High Lord of the Day Court had done the same. That magic was too unique to be mistaken for anything else.

And right now, Lucien was yielding it. 

They landed with a hard thud, Cassian dropping her and their packs off a good three blocks from the fight before he launched himself in the air again. Dropping her off like a deadweight… but she knew her sisters were close, because she could hear Elain crying, and Feyre, Feyre Cursebreaker, yelling at the top of her lungs, “DO NOT HURT HIM.”

A gust of wind nearly knocked Nesta off her feet. Making up her mind, she folded her wings as tightly as she could and started running towards her sisters.

She reached the edge of a square - she didn’t know which one, there was dust and debris everywhere - in time to watch Azriel - bruised and battered, his wing freshly broken - trying to deflect an attack from a monster. It was Lucien, and yet it wasn’t, his magic raging inside the body of a monster with golden scales and wings the length of a warship. 

Across the square, Nesta could see Feyre, sword out, guarding Elain. She could run to them. But she could also see Azriel was flagging, and the spells that Rhys and Cassian were throwing at the beast were doing nothing. The Shadowsinger deflected another blow, then fell. Lucien roared in triumph.

She didn’t know how it happened - if she was using magic, or just responding to Cassian’s fear, his distress at seeing his friend in danger. But in a split second her wings were out and she was flying through the square at a great speed, arms outstretched. She didn’t grab Azriel so much as tackle him, and both of them rolled across the cobbles, out of the way of the dragon’s maw…

Only to hit a wall, and find themselves into a corner.

Nesta rose, magic cracking at her fingertips, to find Lucien meters away from her. Somewhere abovehead, she felt Cassian drawing a breath to scream…

But it wasn’t his voice that rang across the square.

“Stop it! Lucien! Stop!”

Elain had shoved Feyre aside, and was running towards them now. Lucien turned, raised his tail and slammed it into the ground again, cutting Elain off from the others. Nesta’s heart stopped.

But he didn’t attack. No. He seemed to be waiting.

“Please,” she said, breath heaving. “Please just leave them alone.”

The dragon growled. Nesta felt like she’d been dropped in the middle of a play… a play where everyone was trying to kill each other. 

“Elain, what—”

“Lucien, please,” her sister went on, ignoring her completely. “Let them be. I’ll come with you - just don’t hurt anybody else.”

Another growl. Nesta tried summoning her magic again, when he turned to her and bared his teeth. The warning - unsubtle and effective - made her want to tear his head off.

“Nesta, stop it,” Elain said. “Just… don’t make this worse.”

“Make this worse? He’s rampaging in the middle of the city.”

“And he will do a lot worse,” she said. Not like a scared girl - she spoke with the certainty of a Seer.

Wings and blood… suddenly Nesta felt very foolish indeed.

“Please,” Elain continued, looking up at the dragon. “I am your mate. You are hurting my family. Please… I know you’re upset, and you’re frustrated. I understand that.” She came closer, and laid a hand on one of its legs. “Let them live. I’ll come with you wherever you want.”

“Elain!” Feyre cried out. 

Where is everybody, Nesta wondered. Where the hell is everybody?

In her arms, Azriel groaned. She looked down to find blood everywhere, soaking into her gown. He was struggling to get up and making everything worse.

Keep him still, Cassian thought, and she did as told, pushing him back down on the ground. We’re trying to find a way to get you out of there. Just… keep still, Nesta.

It was as if any small movement would cause Lucien to go on the offensive again. But he wasn’t. 

He was lowering his head so that Elain could climb onto his back. Every bit of her being screamed out in protest. “Elain, are you out of your mind?”

“I’ll be safe,” she said, to someone. Her eyes were clouding over, lost into the future again. “I’ve seen it.”

“Elain!”

But Lucien had risen again, spreading his wings wide. There were cries abovehead, as Rhys and Cassian tried to get around him. The dragon snapped his jaws once, twice, stomped on the ground for good measure, then took off - flying straight up, taking her sister with it, a nightmare come to life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ACOTAR or any of the other books/works referenced here. This is a work of fan fiction only.
> 
> It takes place after ACOWAR.
> 
> This is a repost. See the link in my bio for the original, flaws and all.

Somebody was going to die.

And, the way Cassian saw it, they probably deserved it.

Lucien was long gone, the sun had set, and the citizens of Velaris had come out of hiding. He and Rhys had taken Az to a healer, and came back to find Nesta in charge of the cleaning effort. He expected to get shouted at then - he could tell she was angry - but all she had done was point at some debris at the corner of the docks and told him it needed moving.

“Feyre went to speak to Azriel’s spies,” she told Rhysand, before he could ask. “She will be back soon.”

“That was probably for the best,” he replied. Then, looking more embarrassed than Cassian had seen in a year, he said, “You’ve had a long day. If you want to rest…”

Nesta clenched her jaw. She looked like she was about to say something cutting, but all that came out of her mouth was, “Thank you for your concern. I would rather be here.”

And she is being polite, too. This can’t end well, he thought. A beat later, Nesta caught his eye and gave him a humorless smirk. Cassian’s stomach dropped.

Yes. Somebody was going to die.

*

They worked until late, stringing up witchlights to help them see. It was grueling and unnecessary - they could have left it for another time, especially with Feyre and Amren doing most of the magical work. But it wasn’t a question of necessity. It was about keeping themselves from falling apart with worry.

Cassian recognized the feeling. 

So he cleared debris and helped reinforce buildings, fetched personal possessions and helped the injured along with the others. And when they couldn’t do anymore, they gathered in the town house, waiting for the healers to finish with Azriel.

Nobody seemed to want to be alone with their thoughts that night. Nobody. 

Mor was, arguably, the most distressed, pacing up and down until one of them told her to stop. In the past, Cassian would have been the one to comfort her, but now, her worrying was grinding on his nerves. 

Or maybe it wasn’t his nerves at all, and the mating bond was chafing. He was starting to regret how much he’d teased Rhys - this was truly messing with his head.

“Mor,” Rhys said, at last, “You’re driving us all up the wall. Sit down, for Cauldron’s sake.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she snapped, slamming her hands against the table. “What if they can’t fix his wing this time? It’s been broken and remade so often in the past year, what if there is irreversible damage to the tendons? What if—”

“If there is, you will likely not be able to fix it,” Amren replied. “Nor will you speed things up by tearing a hole in the rug.”

Mor complied. For all of three seconds.

Then she was up again, walking even faster, while muttering: “How could this happen? How could it happen?”

Rhys opened his mouth, but Nesta beat him to it, “That’s a good question, actually.”

Her voice was raspy, startling everyone. She’d been sitting in the windowsill, letting her wings hang into the cool night air. The effort of keeping them off the ground all day must have exhausted her, yet she didn’t show any signs of fatigue. If anything, she looked ready to go out and fight out a few rounds.

He had to try to persuade her.

“What are you talking about?” Mor asked, turning to her. “You saw with your own eyes—”

“I saw the ending,” Nesta said. “Perhaps Cassian saw more, but we weren’t here for all of it. What started the fight?”

The rest of their friends shared an uncomfortable look. “We… I don’t know,” Mor admitted. “I only came when Rhys called for us. I saw Lucien transform.”

“I did, too,” Amren replied. “He seemed just as surprised as we were… for all of five seconds.”

“Az should have subdued him. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“I think none of us expected it, Rhys. That’s the whole point.”

Nesta watched as they went back and forth, before focusing on Rhys’ mate. You don’t think she knew, do you? Cassian thought, not knowing whether she was listening in or not.

In response, Nesta said, “Feyre. You don’t seem very surprised by this.”

Cassian had seen his High Lady embarrassed before. Feyre, for all of her immortality, still flustered easily. And this was no exception. “I didn’t think he would transform into a dragon, if that’s what you’re suggesting. How could anybody imagine that?”

“Yes, how could they?” Nesta said, shifting her own wings for emphasis. “Because shape-shifting is a hereditary power. It doesn’t appear randomly.”

The silence that fell upon the room was deadly. Then, with a sigh, Rhys said: “I suppose that dispels any doubts we had, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t remind me,” Feyre said, wincing. 

“What doubts?” Mor asked. “What are they talking about?”

Good question, Cassian thought.

But Nesta did not respond. Instead, she just sat there. Waiting, no doubt, to see who to kill first. 

At length, it was Amren that said it. “The power Lucien wielded today was of the Day Court, not the Autumn one. Given how he could also transform, I’m guessing Helion is the culprit.”

“We had our suspicions,” Feyre said. “But—”

“It’s a little obvious at this point, yes,” Amren said. “Interesting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Nesta said.

Rhys turned to face her full on, as shadows gathered and the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. “I realize you are upset,” he spoke, eyes sweeping her face, her stained clothes, her wings. “And you’ve been going through a lot of changes. I also realize that, had it not been for your help, Azriel’s injuries would have been a lot worse. But be very careful of your tone. Neither of us could have predicted what happened today.”

“No. But Elain did.”

Nesta stood in her full height and walked into the room. “My sister had a vision, and none of us knew what it meant. And maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference to know, but it sure would have stopped us from wasting time, or being surprised when it happened.”

No-one replied. They couldn’t.

“How does that change things now?” Nesta turned to Amren. “About the courts and the politics? You said that Lucien couldn’t steal Elain away because he had nowhere to go. What happens now that he’s Helion’s son?”

“For now, nothing,” Rhys said. “He may not even realize what has happened, let alone what it means.”

“Right, because transforming into a dragon is something that just happens.”

“Not everyone can take it into stride.”

“For Elain’s sake,” Amren said, “we should hope he doesn’t take too long to adjust. Or have you forgot what happened the last time you let your beast off its leash, High Lord?”

Feyre buried her face into her hands. Nesta’s fists were clenched so tight, her body shook. “Wonderful,” she said. “So our best bet is that they make it into the Day Court without incident. Then what?”

“The best case scenario will be that they make it to Helion’s court quietly and without incident. He will return Elain to us, and teach Lucien about his powers. But—” Rhys looked extremely reluctant as he said it “—the chances of this going unnoticed are slim to none. The other courts have spies everywhere - they will know, sooner or later, what has happened. And then they will take action.”

“Lucien was exiled and Elain is my sister,” Feyre said, voice shaking with fury. “What business do they have—”

“Unfortunately, they can make it their business,” Amren said. “Baron may have had his suspicions about Lucien’s true parentage, but until now, he could not prove anything. Now, it is obvious his wife betrayed him, and he raised another Lord’s son as his own. That gives him the right to demand satisfaction, and go to war against Helion and all of his allies.”

“Baron always wanted to go to war,” Mor said. “He never needed an excuse.”

“But he didn’t have this excuse until now,” Amren said. “Which is why we need to work fast.”

The room fell silent.

“And do what?” Nesta asked. “We have no idea where they went or what they will do. We don’t even know if Elain is alright, nevermind—”

“Lucien is her mate,” Cassian said. “He will die before he hurts her.” 

She didn’t look at him, but he could feel it, through the bond - she did not believe it. Or, at the very least, she wasn’t so sure about it.

Amren must have known too, because the next thing she said, she said it directly to Nesta. “Your sister is a Seer. She is neither powerless, nor a victim. She told us she will be safe - we must trust her on that, and focus on the things that we can do to control this situation.”

“And what can we do?” Mor asked. “You said it yourself, this isn’t something that we can hide from the other courts.”

“No, but we can control the narrative.” Amren sighed. “I have an idea. Azriel won’t like it.”

*

Later, the fire had burned to embers and Cassian listened as Rhys and Feyre saw the healer out. They’d done what they could. The patient was sleeping, his heartbeat steady, out of danger for the moment. That was all they could hope for at this point.

Well. That, and that Amren’s plan would work.

“Nesta left via the roof,” Rhys spoke. “She said there was a good wind and she took off, just like that.” 

Cassian smirked, without looking up. “She learned fast. Good for her.”

There was a sound of footsteps, before his oldest friend pulled up a chair and sat down. “You surprised me today,” Rhys said, at length. “Both of you did.”

That took him by surprise. “I thought you knew about the bond,” Cassian said. “I mean, given everything…”

“The bond is one thing,” Rhys said. “But you two didn’t bicker at all today. I was expecting you to be at each other’s throats as soon as you sat down, and instead…”

Instead, they’d barely looked at each other. Cassian sighed, before changing the topic. “Have the others left?”

His friend gave him a look, one that said this conversation was not over and would be continued post haste. “Mor and Amren did. They had to set out for the Court of Nightmares now, if they wanted to intercept the spies and spin our own version of what happened today.” 

“Do you honestly think it would work?” Normally, Cassian didn’t give a rat’s arse about politics, especially the drama of the Hewn City. To him, it was action that spoke the loudest, and their desire to live in comfortable isolation under the Mountain was distasteful to say the least. 

But now it matters. It matters because it’s Elain’s life on the line. And Nesta’s, too.

He could tell Rhys felt the same, even as the High Lord tried to put on a good front. “A lot of it is touch and go. And it depends, greatly, on what Elain and Lucien do from now on. It may or may not work. But—”

“It is literally the only chance we’ve got, I know.” Cassian ran his fingers through his hair. “Is it wrong if I said, I don’t envy you your position?”

“I think you have your hands pretty full as it is,” spoke a familiar voice from the door. Cassian and Rhys whirled around - Azriel was there, leaning against Feyre. 

“He wanted to come down,” the latter said, looking apologetic. “I thought it would be better if I let him.”

“You always do too much,” Rhys replied, walking up to them. He helped Azriel into a seat, then kissed his mate, cupping her face in his hands. The sight of them - so tender and sweet, even after the day they’d had - cut through Cassian like a knife. 

Azriel turned to him, his scarred face pensive. “Did I, or did I not, see Nesta with wings on her back today?”

“She will be very happy you’re awake,” Cassian said. “I’m a terrible flying instructor.”

“From what I saw, she didn’t do half bad,” came the reply. Then Az bowed his head. “Please thank her on my behalf.” 

“You can thank her yourself, when you’ve had some rest,” Rhys said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on. It’s late.”

“I heard something about a plan,” Azriel said. “Please tell me they’ve not gone too far.”

“There is time for everything, in the morning,” Feyre said. She and her mate flanked Azriel like a pair of hens, then helped him up and led him towards the stairs. Right before they did, Rhys paused and looked back.

“Cassian? If you haven’t retired within fifteen minutes, I’ll be sending you to the library to tell Bryaxis his bedtime story.” 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Cassian murmured. 

But the joke fell flat. His fire was nearly out.

*

Still, he could not rest. 

He got through the motions - washed himself, changed clothes, lay in bed. Then he tossed and turned and tossed some more, fury and helplessness clawing at him at the same time. A thousand scenarios ran through his mind - how the day could have gone differently, how he could have changed the turn of the fight. If only he’d been a little bit faster, a little bit meaner. If he hadn’t been so selfish on the way back. What had he told Nesta? That they could take as long as they wanted? 

Stupid. Peacetime nonsense. 

He could have flown them to Velaris in half the time it had taken them, if not less. There was no point, practically speaking, of drawing out their journey, when all they’d done was travel in silence. Like some young fledgling, he’d thrown all sense out the window, giddy at the chance to spend time with a female. He was over five hundred years old, and yet just touching the skin on her back had made him freeze up. 

And while he’d been out, playing in the woods, his best friend had gotten hurt, and his mate’s sister was now in danger.

Dawn was breaking when Cassian gave up on trying to sleep. His back and wings ached, but he took to the skies, following the instinct that called him there. 

From above, Velaris didn’t seem all that changed. If he didn’t look towards the docks, he wouldn’t have known there was a fight. It was as if nothing had happened - and he was circling the House of Wind again, gathering the courage to land and talk to the girl who held his mind and soul.

For an instance, he wished time had turned, and none of this had happened. Bickering or no bickering, longing or not, it was preferable to knowing that Nesta’s worst fear had come true, and there was nothing he could do to help. 

There was a movement inside the house, and a tall figure approached the window. Cassian held his breath, wondering if maybe - just maybe - a miracle had happened after all.

But it was the wrong floor, and the wrong window. Where Elain’s rooms faced the city and the garden she’d cultivated, Nesta’s balcony was at the doorstep of the forest. She stood there now - hair loose, wings out, her night shirt billowing around her legs - and though it was still fairly dark outside, her eyes found Cassian immediately. He felt like his heart had stopped.

Mate. My mate.

“Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

Then she went back in, leaving the window wide open. 

The inside of a lady’s chamber is not for all to see. And, where Nesta was concerned, only those she trusted could be let it. 

Cassian landed on the platform, taking care not to knock anything down. After some consideration, he took his boots off and left them outside, before stepping into the house.

The door clicked softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> I don't live in the USA. I don't have much of a platform. I'm not able to attend any marches.
> 
> But I want to use whatever platform I have to spread information and help. I have listed a few links and organisations here and at some of my other fics. If my work gives you pleasure, please donate. Sign petitions. Call your elected representatives, if you are in the USA. Keep yourselves informed and alert if you aren't.
> 
> Please. Thank you.
> 
> Organizations, Petitions & Go Fund Me:  
(these links come from Bailey Sarians latest video, she had great links so I'll use the same, go check out her video right here: https://youtu.be/iig8BEP-sOw )  
Color Of Change - https://colorofchange.org/  
Movement For Black Lives - https://m4bl.org/  
NAACP - https://www.naacpldf.org/  
Undocublack -https://undocublack.org/  
Petition for George Floyd - https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?utm_source=brand_us&utm_medium=media  
Minnesota Freedom Fun - https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/  
Reclaim The Block - https://secure.everyaction.com/zae4prEeKESHBy0MKXTIcQ2  
Go Fund Me For George Floyd Family - https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd


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